Carpe Diem
by Beta Gyre
Summary: AU: Rapunzel was not born a princess, and the lanterns were not for her, but otherwise the movie still happened—and Flynn was still an outlaw. This is a domestic/sweet serial about their life together if they had to fend for themselves.
1. Miracle

**Disclaimer**: _Tangled _belongs to Disney. No profit is being made with this.

**Author's Note**: This is something a bit different. It is not a "novel" in the sense of having a plot; it is a series of slice-of-life chapters with a general thread running through them. It is an AU scenario inspired by the original fairy tale and some elements of the movie. In the fairy tale, Rapunzel was not born a princess, and such is going to be her background for this story (though I set up a situation in which her family willingly gives her up to Gothel rather than under duress)... but other than that, she's still _Tangled _Rapunzel. For this story, Flynn's background does follow the movie; he is still _Tangled_ Flynn, not a prince. They must create their own lives and find their own place in the world, rather than having a place carved out and waiting for them to fill. As you might guess, their place is not going to be in the kingdom of Corona in this AU.

The first few chapters of this piece are background about what is different between the movie and this AU, and how they ultimately decide on what they must do. After that, it will be a series of one-shot chapters, probably not in temporal order. I fully expect that they will jump all over the place in the timeline, but I will make it clear at the beginning of each chapter when it is supposed to happen.

**Rating**: At the time of posting, the story is rated T. I do not expect this to last. At some point, I anticipate changing the rating to M because there will be intimacy between the two of them. There will be no other sort of M-rated content, but if this is not something you want to read, consider this your heads up.

* * *

**Carpe Diem**

* * *

**Chapter One: Miracle**

* * *

In the quaint town on the island kingdom of Corona, most of the citizens were preparing for a celebration. It was not only the anniversary of the state's founding, but by sheer good fortune, it also happened to be the birthday of their future ruler—a ruler whose birth had, for a long time, been a matter of serious question, and, by extension, so had the future of the kingdom itself. The king and queen were not young, and it was long known that they had attempted to have a child but had failed to do so over and over. Finally, however, as she approached her fortieth year, Her Majesty was successfully delivered of a healthy baby—an heir. The line of succession was confirmed; the kingdom's political stability remained.

The townspeople had long launched illuminated, floating lanterns in observation of the national holiday, led by their beloved king and queen's release of the first lantern. Tonight, however, 3-year-old Prince Bastion was going to release that first light. The tawny-haired, round-eyed, husky little boy was thought adorable by the whole kingdom, and now that he was definitely old enough to understand the significance of the event, his parents had allowed him to lead it off.

However, not every citizen of Corona was in a celebratory mood. While the festivities were underway in town, in a ramshackle wood frame house on the sparsely populated coastline of the mainland, an anxious man watched over his very pregnant, and dying, sister.

_If I ever find that rascal that did this to her, I will kill him with my own bare hands,_ the increasingly distraught fisherman thought, clenching his fists as his sister's eyes fluttered in her sleep and her breathing hitched. He glanced down at her swollen belly. She was at full term and had been in labor for two days now, but there was no indication that delivery was imminent—and they could not afford a midwife. This baby—the baby with which that no-account Danish captain had impregnated her before abandoning her—was going to kill her.

Throughout the pregnancy, the brother and sister had been deeply concerned about how they could possibly raise the baby on their income, or what its prospects might be as a fatherless, illegitimate child. But now that his sister—the last surviving relative he had—was on her deathbed from the pregnancy, the young fisherman found that those previous concerns were nothing, utterly unimportant compared to what they were now facing. He would gladly suffer any impoverishment in place of what he knew was coming.

A groan escaped her unconscious form. Sweat had poured down her face, soaking the lumpy pillow, and the odor of unwashed bodies and sickness filled her room. The fisherman's chest constricted. She was going to die very soon, unless...

_Unless what? _he thought grimly. He knew nothing about medicine or birth. Even if they could find a physician or midwife who would attend to her on credit, the fact remained that practically everyone was at that lantern ceremony tonight for the rich little prince. The thought angered him so much that he pushed it out of his mind, trying to find something—anything—he could grasp at.

When all conventional options have been exhausted, desperate people often look for miracles. Old tales that, in better times, would have been dismissed with prejudice suddenly become possibilities. So it was with the young fisherman. A legend that their grandmother had told them years ago was now tugging at the edges of his mind. There was a story that, over a thousand years ago when the island of Corona was just a wild territory, so unimportant and worthless in natural resources that the Franks and Danes and others weren't even interested in battling over it, the first group of settlers were drawn to the edge of the mainland by a mysterious light. The story went that as they approached that light, the weariness and injuries that they had incurred in their trek seemed to vanish. The source of the light was a magic flower that seemed to have healing powers, and by the light of this flower, the story claimed, the first settlers glimpsed the island of Corona in the distance and knew that it would be their home.

It was a ridiculous legend, the fisherman thought. An old wives' tale. And yet... they lived on the shore. If such a thing existed, they would not be too far from it.

Still, his sister was dying. She likely did not have much time left. Would it not be better for him to be with her at the end, rather than hunt for something that his rational side told him probably was not real and return empty-handed only to find that she had died alone when he was gone?

The young man's sister stirred. Her eyes fluttered open for a moment and clearly focused on him. A ragged cry escaped her throat that was just clear enough that he had no doubt it was his name.

"Are you awake?" he gasped, his heart pounding in his chest.

She grunted an affirmative.

The young man was convinced. She had awakened and called out to him just as the conflict crossed his mind, just as he had almost decided to forgo the hopeless search and stay with her as she died. This brief reprieve was a sign, he decided—a sign to look for the healing flower. And if that was the case, then it _did _exist.

"I'm going to look for something to help you," he said with sudden resolve. "Stay with me. Please don't die. _Please."_

She focused on his face desperately, but understanding filled her features. She took a breath and nodded quickly. That was enough. He darted across the rustic room and grabbed his cloak off a hook on the wall, then rushed through the door.

About an hour later, as he clambered along the rocks on the wild, unsettled cliffs, he found himself thinking that the legend actually wasn't impossible at all. These cliffs were so impassable, so dangerous, that it was absurd to imagine human feet treading them. The constant spray from the sea, and the growth of mold, had turned even seemingly safe spots into treacherously slippery traps. It was truly no wonder that this spot had never been settled. He had already incurred a jagged scratch on his forearm and a set of nasty bruises from a fall. If such a flower did exist, it would be very well protected here.

A scuffling sound caught his ears—but he couldn't be sure, with the roar of the waves. Surely no one was around here. Still, the possibility of an animal, a predator, gave him pause, and he turned in the general direction of the scuffle, gripping the handle of the knife that was sheathed at his waist.

And then he saw it. A gleam of light, fairly soft and dim, was coming from a cliffside not too far above him. It was either a traveler's lantern or...

He scampered up the rocky slope, hardly mindful of where he stepped, but somehow miraculously managing to reach the ledge without falling and tumbling down the rocks. When he heaved his body onto the earth, he looked up toward the source of the light and gaped in astonishment.

There, before his very eyes, was the fabled flower. It was so exposed, and for a moment he wondered how it was that no one in a thousand years had apparently managed to see it... even if the cliff itself was hard to reach, mariners should have been able to see it. He did not notice the woven basket made of shrubbery parts that lay on its side several feet away, the light of the flower was so striking... and as he lifted the plant out of its soil and began to carry it back home, neither did he hear the footsteps that followed behind him.

* * *

"Shhh," he said as he poured the bowlful of elixir into his sister's mouth. She had drifted off again while he was gone, but she would be fine now... or if she wouldn't, if _this _wouldn't save her, then nothing could now, he reasoned. He had done absolutely everything he could possibly do.

However, he needn't have worried. Her eyes blinked open soon after she had imbibed the potion, and the color that had fled her cheeks filled her face with a glow of health once more. She reached up and gave him a grateful, wordless hug. He didn't need words.

In about an hour and a half, she had been safely delivered of a baby girl. The child had a head of golden blonde hair, which he thought was a bit peculiar... both he and his sister had brown hair, as had their parents, just like most of the long-time residents of the area. That accursed captain had also had dark hair... but he supposed that either the flower itself had caused this effect, or someone in that scoundrel's family had been blond. It didn't matter, he supposed. He didn't much care to think about the rake, anyway. Now that he did not fear for his sister's life, the problem that had dogged their thoughts for nine months was once more at the forefront. How on earth were they going to care for this baby? And what would become of her once she was grown?

The last of the lanterns were fading away over the sea, and as he glanced out the window, he thought once more about the person for whom they were meant. The three-year-old prince had such bright prospects. _That _child would never want for anything. He would be raised to be a good ruler, since the current king was such a good one himself, and even if Prince Bastion turned out as ugly as a mangy dog, he would still have no shortage of ladies interested in marrying him. Money and power counted.

The young fisherman glanced at his newborn niece now suckling at her mother's breast. This was an innocent child too, but her prospects looked so different compared to those of that other child in the grand castle on the island. The dim light of the fading lanterns seemed appropriate, he thought grimly. They would certainly do the best they could for her, and try to ensure that she did not have the fate of her mother, but there was only so much...

He sighed in resignation. At least he still _had _this little girl and her mother. Something would turn up. The flower had, after all. His sister and her baby were meant to survive. That had to be for a reason.

A knock on the hut's flimsy door sounded. He snapped his head up in shock. Why would anyone be looking for them tonight? Pretty much everyone was at that festival.

He glanced at his sister questioningly, but she only gave a shrug. She did not know who it could be either. Taking a deep breath, he turned away from the bed and headed toward the door.

When he opened it, he found himself face-to-face with a red-garbed, black-caped woman he had never seen before in his life.

* * *

**End Note:** This is _not _a Rapunzel/Bastion AU. This is also not a Rapunzel/Flynn/Bastion love triangle setup. Bastion's character is a nod to the early storyboarding, a nod to the original fairy tale (since he is a prince here), and a way to allow the events of the movie to happen more or less unchanged even though Rapunzel's background is so different. Flynn will make his appearance in the next chapter.


	2. Difficult Choices

**Author's Note**: This chapter is going to jump around. The reason is that it should be assumed that the events of the movie play out the same way, with a couple of exceptions about the ownership of the stolen crown and, of course, the sort of realization that Rapunzel has. The parts that are "skipped" should be assumed to be unchanged scenes from the movie, which I'm sure no one is too interested in reading... and I'm not interested in rehashing. I don't expect any more "jumpiness" within chapters, since there will be no more canon alterations to account for.

Thanks for the interest! After I'm finished with the prologue chapters, then the warm 'n' fuzzy domestic parts will commence. ...Actually, it won't be entirely warm 'n' fuzzy. As a teaser, I have, among other things, a well-deserved tavern beatdown planned for a future chapter, and Flynn/Eugene is going to be the one to deliver it.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Difficult Choices**

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" the fisherman asked his sister uncertainly.

The new mother looked up from her bed with eyes weary from pregnancy and illness and worry, but tinged with hope. "We have to face facts, brother. We cannot take care of her, and we have known that for months," she said quietly. "This lady Gothel can... and she _was _the keeper of the magic flower. She might have hurt us for taking it, but she just fell in love with the baby. I was nervous about letting her see the baby alone, but she has taken to the baby so well. By adopting her, Gothel will give her the life that we can't. She is doing us a favor—all _three _of us."

He sighed. "It's your child... but something about this just bothers me." He stared out of the bedchamber into the common room, where Gothel was holding his niece close, as if guarding a valuable possession. "She dresses funny. I've never seen anyone in a gown like that before."

"It's probably really fine material," the young woman mused. "And fashionable. Wealthy people sometimes want to dress funny. Besides, the way she's dressed is no reason to distrust her."

"It's not only that. I can't put my finger on exactly what it is... but we don't even know her! How can we just give that child up to her?"

"That's exactly what we would have done if we had given her to the church like we talked about—we would have given her to the care of people we didn't know."

"And that's partly why we had doubts about doing it," the man pointed out.

The young woman looked up at her brother with sad eyes. "But we probably would have anyway, because it's..." She stopped speaking as her voice broke. He waited patiently for her to compose herself, and then she continued. "It is not about us. It is about what is best for _her._ But this way, she will be raised as somebody's _daughter, _not a cathedral servant. She will have a—a mother," she said, enunciating the word painfully. "She won't be an orphan this way. I want her to have the things that... I can't give her." Her voice broke, and the corners of her eyes grew red and watery. "We can't think about ourselves now. We have to think about what is best for her."

* * *

_Eighteen years later..._

Rapunzel had just finished her design, a vividly chalked depiction of the sun symbol of Corona, when she noticed that heads were turning and attention was being drawn away from the dance to something else. Curious, she stood up and craned her neck to try to find out what it was. She was not jealous of whatever had diverted the people's attention from her work; anything new was interesting to her, and she would not miss it.

A tall, broad-shouldered, tawny-haired man in fine clothing was making his way through the crowd. His gait was surprisingly awkward for an aristocrat, and he bore a somewhat goofy smile on his face—a face that Rapunzel could not help but think was much less handsome than that of her _own _male companion. _Where is he, anyway?_ she thought. Eugene, being taller, had gotten a glimpse of the well-dressed man before she had, and at the sight, he had apparently disappeared into the crowds immediately. Rapunzel wondered why.

Then she noticed the rich man's companion. An equally finely dressed woman with jet black hair clung proudly to his arm and smiled a perfect white smile at the townspeople as the pair passed through the crowd. However, Rapunzel could not help but notice that something was a little different about the woman. Whereas the man seemed to be happy just to be around her, and the goofy smile never wavered, the woman's mood seemed to change according to whether she was preoccupied with something in town or not. Whenever something caught her attention—a tasty cupcake, a compliment from a villager, a piece of finery in a window, or just a quaint old building—she was happy, but when she was left to only her own thoughts, the smile faded into a worried frown.

Rapunzel was too curious not to ask someone. She turned to the nearest person, a woman who had been dancing in her impromptu circle.

"Who are they?" she asked. "And why is the lady unhappy?"

The woman pulled back in surprise. "You must not be from here," she said.

Rapunzel felt awkward. She was not from this town, no... but she _was _from close by in the area, and it embarrassed her that she did not know anything about this little island so close to where she lived. Why had Mother hidden her away? No one here seemed to be scary... even the ruffians and thugs back in the Snuggly Duckling weren't _really _scary. Mother had just kept her ignorant for no apparent reason, and now it was embarrassing not to know much.

"I'm not," Rapunzel said awkwardly. "I'm just visiting the kingdom for my birthday, because of the lanterns. I've... heard about them," she said, shading the truth a bit. It would sound odd to reveal that she was actually close enough to _see _the lanterns year after year but still knew nothing about this place.

"Ah," the woman said. "Well, they are for the national holiday, the founding of the kingdom. Also, it is Prince Bastion's birthday too, so the ceremony is partly about that. He's the handsome young man," she said, gesturing at the tawny-headed man.

Rapunzel bit her lip rather than tell the woman that she did not think Prince Bastion was at all handsome compared to Eugene _(and where was he?)_.

The woman sat down on a stone bench and patted the seat beside her for Rapunzel. She sat down at once and settled herself down, anticipating a story. The woman continued.

"The prince turned twenty-one today," she said. "He is an only child, and for a long time, no one was sure whether our king and queen would have an heir. They are in their sixties now, you know. But there he is," she said proudly, "and when he was born, it happened to be on our national holiday, so the celebration of that became merged with a celebration of the fact that the line of succession would continue with him." The woman turned to Rapunzel with a smile. "And happy birthday to _you _too. I must say, you could not pick a more beautiful day to be here for the lantern ceremony. The sky will be perfect tonight for the launch."

Rapunzel smiled back. "Thank you. The day has already been almost perfect."

The woman gazed at the prince and the black-haired lady beside him. "It really has, just like the day that _they _met."

Rapunzel's ears perked up.

"It was about three years ago, perhaps not quite a full three... but in any case, the weather was just like this, warm and sunny. The prince was planning to ride into the woods on the mainland, just take a ride on his horse and enjoy the fine day, but his father the king had other plans. A ship had just arrived at port, a very important one from a wealthy English merchant by the name of Marks, who was interested in establishing his business in Corona. Lots of revenue was at stake, and the king really wanted this merchant's company to trade here, so he was planning to send out his highest-ranked advisor on trade relations to welcome him. However," the woman said with a chuckle, "that advisor, a man named Conli, did not show up at the docks as expected."

Rapunzel winced. "That doesn't sound good."

The woman grinned. "It turned out all right, as you will see... but naturally, the king didn't know that at the time. I don't know exactly what Conli was doing, but the rumor is that he had been ambushed in the streets and locked in a closet as some sort of joke. Anyway, _he _ended up being removed from his position and forced into the Royal Guard. But in the meantime, something had to be done... Marks was on the ship, and he had been waiting for a welcome that had not happened... so the king decided that the only thing to be done was to send out Prince Bastion himself.

"Naturally, the prince was not happy that he would be spending his day doing the job of someone else rather than riding in the woods. However, he showed up at the docks, greeted Marks, and all was smoothed over nicely. Marks trades here today, in fact," the woman added. "But the most important part is that his daughter, Georgiana Marks, was on that ship too. She wanted to see Corona. And that lady"—the woman gestured at the black-haired woman on the prince's arm—"is Georgiana herself. They fell in love soon after they met, and they are going to be married in three days."

Rapunzel glanced out at the well-dressed lady. "So she is going to be the princess?"

"Indeed. And if the prince hadn't been made to go to her father's ship that day and welcome them, they might not even have met. He would have spent the whole day riding around in the forest." The woman smiled contentedly. "I guess it was fate that they met."

Rapunzel gazed at the princess-to-be. For a moment, Georgiana was enthralled with the plants outside a small store, but then the concerned frown formed on her face again.

"So why does she keep frowning?" Rapunzel asked her companion. "It seems like she ought to be happy."

The woman sighed. "The king and queen had a crown created for her—for the wedding, of course, which is also when she will become the princess consort. But it was stolen yesterday, and there has been no sign of it since then. The word is that she and her prince are afraid that the wedding will be postponed until it can be found... or another one made... and they are eager to get married."

Rapunzel suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. Perhaps it had something to do with the realization that she knew exactly where Georgiana's crown was—or that the satchel that held it was wrapped and tied around her waist and now dangled between her legs, hidden by petticoats and skirts.

Or that she knew who had stolen the crown, and had promised him to give it back to him after he showed her the lanterns. Suddenly it made perfect sense to her that Eugene had vanished. He was avoiding the royal couple, understandably not wanting to be seen by them.

Rapunzel glanced at the young couple once more. Georgiana was smiling again as Bastion bought a flower for her and handed it awkwardly to her, his face reddening as he did. They really did seem to be in love, she thought, and it sounded as if their meeting _was _meant to happen. It wasn't fair that they might not be able to get married because of this crown.

But she had promised to give it back to Eugene, and she always kept her promises.

Still... it wasn't his crown. It was Georgiana's.

But the king and queen had to be rich, right? They could have another crown made. And she had _promised_ Eugene she would give it back to _him._

Besides, she liked him.

* * *

_The next day..._

Rapunzel's head was spinning, whirling with thoughts that she did not even know she had until now. The image of the island, silhouetted in the night sky. A falling-down abandoned ruin of a house that she had seen along the shore before _he _took Georgiana's crown and disappeared. Faint images of a walk from that house to the tower. A rail-thin woman who would have looked like her if her hair had been cut, turned brown, and lost all bounce and lustre, and a wrinkle-faced man who looked old but Rapunzel somehow knew was young.

Who _were _those people? Whose faces were they, whose house was that, and why did she have memories of them? She had not seen anyone who looked like them in her jaunt in town. These were memories of some other time.

She stood up from her dresser, closed her eyes, and tried to clear her mind, focusing only on the people, trying to make their faces clearer in her memories. Anger and confusion about being abandoned by _him..._ guilt about the trouble Mother took to find and rescue her... the now tainted joy of seeing the town and the lanterns... all these emotions fled her mind as she focused sharply on the faces.

The more she thought about it, the more confident she became that the woman's face looked very much like hers, only thinner, unhappier, and far less healthy. She also seemed to have blue eyes rather than green. Rapunzel wondered for a brief moment if she was filling in the blanks with memories of how _she _looked, but the man's face was also becoming clearer as she focused on that memory, and _he _didn't look like her. His skin was coarse and tanned. He had a shaggy beard, rather longer and thicker than... _(No,_ Rapunzel told herself firmly in thought, _don't think about him)_ ...and he did have green eyes, exactly like her own.

Rapunzel had always wondered who her father was and what had happened to him. Was the male face that of her father? But if so, who was the woman? And why did she resemble that woman rather than Mother?

"_Rapunzel! Are you all right?"_ Mother's voice called up the stairs.

Rapunzel's thoughts flashed back to the present situation, and immediately she was hit with the realization that she was breathing heavily. A thought had just entered her mind, a scary and upsetting one, which she did not want to be true... but now that she had thought about it, she wouldn't be able to rest until she knew.

She parted the curtains to her room and stepped downstairs where Mother was waiting. _Say it,_ she commanded herself. _Say it now._

She took a deep breath and faced the woman who was peering down at her with a frown. "Am I your real daughter?" she demanded firmly, before she lost her courage.

Gothel drew back in shock. Her eyes grew wide, and her mouth fell open a centimeter. Immediately she assumed control of herself and pasted a smile on her face.

"Rapunzel, why would you even ask such a ridiculous question?" Gothel preened, trying to reach around Rapunzel and smother her in an embrace.

The words were too accented, but the hesitation was all the answer Rapunzel had needed. She drew away from the unwanted hug and stared back. "I'm not, am I?" she exclaimed.

Gothel's fake smile transformed into a cold frown, further confirming everything. "How did you know?" she said icily.

Rapunzel's face was changing into a grimace of horror more and more by the moment. Suddenly everything she had assumed to be true about the pair of thugs, Eugene's supposed betrayal, and Mother's supposed rescue was coming into question in her mind. Somehow she managed to find the words to respond to the question.

"Memories of the island... a man and a woman's faces... a shack by the waterfront, which I saw last night in ruins..." She trailed off, unable to get more out.

Gothel pursed her lips as if sucking on a lemon. She stared silently down at the young woman before her, clearly thinking about what to say next.

Something else occurred to Rapunzel, and it was so awful that she couldn't stop herself from bursting out with it. "You took me from them!" she exclaimed, backing away from Gothel again. "They _are _my real parents, and you stole me away from them because of my powers... _didn't you?"_

Gothel's eyebrows narrowed sharply as she advanced toward Rapunzel. Anger spread over her face at the accusation. She extended a shaking hand and pointed at Rapunzel, fury written in every feature on her face.

"I did _not!"_ she shouted. "Your parents—"

"You did!" Rapunzel cried, tears forming in her eyes. "You kidnapped me! _That's _why you kept me locked up!"

"Shut up and sit down!" Gothel snarled, hurling Rapunzel onto a chair. Her gray eyes were flashing, and her mouth curled into an evil smile. "You want to know about your 'real' family, Rapunzel? I'll tell you about them! That man you remember? He wasn't your father. He was your _uncle._ And he and your 'real' mother gave you to me because they didn't want you!"

"You're lying!" Rapunzel cried, unable to look Gothel in the face. Tears fell from her eyes onto her lap. She wanted to believe her own words, but something in Gothel's voice spoke to the truth.

Gothel continued mercilessly. "Oh no I'm not. They gave you up to me because they wanted to be rid of you! They were going to give you up no matter what. If I had not found their dump of a house, you would be scrubbing floors as a maid somewhere!"

"Then why do I have powers?" Rapunzel shot back hotly.

Gothel smiled darkly. "Because your uncle stole a magic flower that belonged to_ me—I_ had cared for it, nourished it, kept it alive, and he _picked_ it and ground it up to save his whore of a sister's life. You have the same power that flower had. I came in pursuit of your uncle and offered to take you from them as soon as you were born... and _they agreed,"_ she finished pointedly.

Rapunzel couldn't argue anymore. What Gothel was saying was true, and she knew it. She had been traded for a flower. Her birth parents hadn't wanted her—or, at least, her uncle and mother. But...

"What about my father?" she said shakily.

Gothel's eyes flashed with malice again. "Your father was a dog! Some fly-by-night boat captain who knocked up your ignorant slut of a mother and then sailed off months before you were born. He didn't want you either." She grinned evilly.

Rapunzel felt as if she had just been stabbed in multiple places. She leaned her head forward helplessly. Tears dotted her lap.

Gothel seemed to realize that her words had had their intended effect of cowing the poor girl, as they had for so many years. She sat down on a cushion next to Rapunzel and regarded her as she cried silently.

"It's all right, my dear," she said with simpering compassion. "I raised you. I am your mother. I wanted you, even though no one else does." She smirked at the sympathy-cloaked barb and stifled a laugh as Rapunzel sobbed again.

Part of her said that she had gone far enough, but the sadist in her had to get in one last stab. "I hope you understand that now and understand why I had to keep you indoors. I _tried _to raise you right, but I was always afraid that _blood will out, _you know... and it looks like it has, since you managed to find yourself a worthless scoundrel just like your 'father.'"

Rapunzel's head shot up sharply at the reference to Eugene. Gothel, however, continued, heedless of the change. "But he won't be able to ruin you, because I have made sure he will be executed for his crimes."

Rapunzel pulled back, her eyes growing wide. All the misery she had been wallowing in vanished. "What?" she whispered. Immediately beneath her terror for him was the realization that he was innocent—at least, innocent of selling her out and abandoning her. _"I have made sure,"_ Gothel had just said—and Rapunzel knew what that meant. Eugene hadn't traded her for a crown or left her to thugs. _He wouldn't do that._ Somehow, Gothel herself had set him up. Rapunzel was certain of it.

"Now, now. All this is as it should be."

Rapunzel stood up. Her eyes were flashing and dry. _"No,"_ she said harshly. "You're _wrong._ You're _not _the only one who wanted me. He did too... and _he_ wanted me for myself. _You_ don't. You only wanted me for my powers."

Gothel stared out at Rapunzel, once again allowing her silence to confirm Rapunzel's accusations—as well as those accusations that were yet unspoken.

"You set him up!" Rapunzel exclaimed as the tears she had been holding back—tears for Eugene now—gushed down her face. "It was all you! He cared about me, and you—you—you only took me to use me for my powers!"

Gothel stood up, reached out, and grabbed Rapunzel's arm. "Rapunzel!" she began angrily.

Rapunzel stared the woman in the face. "It's _true,"_ she said severely, "and I will _never _let you use my hair _again."_ She jerked away harshly, causing Gothel to fall backward, crashing into the mirror and breaking it.

Gothel's eyes narrowed and her mouth curled into a frown once more. "So you want me to be the bad guy?" she said coolly. "Fine. Now I'm the bad guy."

* * *

_A bit later..._

He held her closely, squeezing her form and occasionally burying his head on her shoulder, in part to comfort her, but also as if to make sure she was still real. She didn't need him to say anything; his touch was all she needed. As he hugged her, she carefully unlocked the shackle that bound him to the railing. At last she broke apart the cuff and threw it aside as if casting off a piece of filthy garbage. He wrapped his arm, now free of any uncomfortable links of metal, around her back and squeezed her tightly.

"Rapunzel," he murmured into her neck.

She felt his hair tickle her skin, and a sweet, unfamiliar tingle shot down her body from that spot. Despite the tumult of feelings mixing around in her mind right now—shock at what she had so recently learned from Gothel, misery at the thought of losing Eugene, grief at losing Gothel (whatever she was, she _had _adopted and raised Rapunzel), and terror about the uncertain future she now faced—she loved having him here with her, safe in each other's arms, and knowing that he had never abandoned or betrayed her. She didn't want to let him go, _ever, _but... she was not sure if he would want to stay with her, and if he did want to leave, she didn't know what she would do.

They stayed like that, holding each other silently, until the sun began to set and the light pouring in through the tower window faded, leaving a cold shadow in its wake. As the stone turned cool, a chill rippled over Rapunzel's body—and it was not all from the change in temperature. All of a sudden, the tower was no longer a safe fortress, but a place of fear and loneliness. She could not sleep here by herself tonight, not with Mother's dust scattered on the ground. She had not wanted to believe it, but Mother's last comment about Eugene still rattled around in her head: _"A worthless scoundrel just like your father."_

Would Eugene run away and leave her, like her "father" had done to her birth mother? _Surely not,_ she thought. He had been holding her, comforting her, kissing her... they had told each other about what had really happened after they got separated, and as Rapunzel had hoped and believed, he was innocent of any betrayal. He _had _to be a good person, a person who cared about her, not a worthless scoundrel. But he _was _a thief. That one fact kept a tiny doubt nagging at Rapunzel's heart.

She turned to Eugene, not breaking out of his embrace. "Please stay," she whispered against his ear. "Please don't leave me here alone."

He seemed surprised at the supplication. "Rapunzel, I have _no _plans to leave you."

She squeezed him, feeling a tear trickle down her face. "I have no one," she said quietly. "I don't even know what my—mother's—name was. Their house was long abandoned anyway, and they didn't want me. _She _was all I had, and now..." She trailed off and buried her face in his hair.

He waited a moment before speaking. "I don't have a family either," he said. "But it wouldn't matter if I did. I'm not leaving you unless _you _don't want me—and I'd still argue," he said with a halfhearted attempt at a chuckle. "And that's not just for now, either. Don't you know that?"

She let out a sob of gratitude. "I just wanted to be sure," she said. He smiled and patted her on the back.

They held each other silently as the sun continued to set, turning into an orange fireball. At last, when the tower had grown mostly dark, they broke apart and stood up.

"Eugene, what are we going to do?" she said.

He furrowed his brow. He did not want to tell her what he knew to be true, which was that they could not stay here indefinitely. He had escaped from prison, and even though the princess-to-be's crown was now back where it belonged, he knew that the kingdom still had to be hunting him. They could stay in this tower for a while, he supposed—after all, no one had found it for eighteen years—but at some point soon, the food would run out and they would have to leave. He _hoped _that Maximus would stick with them rather than returning to his old post at the kingdom, because a horse would be very useful when they inevitably left, but he couldn't be sure.

He also did not want to tell her that, based on what she had repeated to him, there was very little chance of finding her birth family. Gothel had not told her the names of the people who had lived at the run-down abandoned shack. Also, even if they could find out who had lived there eighteen years ago, it would not necessarily help Rapunzel's situation. It seemed highly unlikely that birth records could be found for a fatherless, illegitimate child taken away within an hour of her birth and kept hidden for eighteen years. Rapunzel might not even _exist _legally.

Eugene knew what happened to cast-off, unwanted children. He had known several in the orphanage who had been born to unwed mothers and abandoned at birth. The lucky ones found work as servants and barmaids. The less-lucky ones went into prostitution. The unlucky ones died young, often at the end of a hangman's noose.

Eugene watched as the lizard scampered onto Rapunzel's shoulder. He wondered where it had been hiding while they held and comforted each other, but supposed that it didn't matter, since its tongue had not been in his ears. Rapunzel, meanwhile, seemed to be comforted by the animal's familiar gesture. She turned away and walked unsteadily toward the kitchen to grab some food for them.

"It'll be all right," he finally answered. This seemed to comfort her.

As she worked, Eugene made a promise to himself. He knew they would need to stay at the tower until Rapunzel had made whatever inquiries she could about her birth family, but once the time came, they would have to leave—and it would have to be together, no matter how uncomfortable that might be for either of them. Even though they had kissed, he was not sure if she really thought of him in the same way that he now recognized he thought about her, but he was not going to worry about that right now. Wherever they went, it would have to be together, even if it was just as friends. He would _not _let her fate be like that of other people no one had wanted... because it wasn't true. _He _wanted her.

* * *

**End Note:** Yes, Prince Bastion's aborted trip into the forest is another nod to the original fairy tale, the storyboarding, and the 'ship that was not meant to be.


	3. Aftermath

**Author's Note**: Once again, thanks for the interest! The chapter was going to be longer, but I decided to cut it off where I did because there was still too much to tell, and the chapter would have ended up at least twice as long. After this chapter and the next, they'll be on their way. Once they finally do get away from the tower and start to build their lives, the domestic one-shot chapters are very unlikely to be 7000 words long, so I don't want these opening chapters to be that long either.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Aftermath**

* * *

After a quick dinner of bread and soup, they began to fall into a synchronization of behavior. Without actually speaking about it, they both seemed to recognize that the tower needed to be cleaned up, the items associated with the trauma stashed away or disposed of. After all, they both were aware that, for the time being, the tower was the only place they had. It didn't need to be cluttered with things that evoked bad memories.

Rapunzel gathered up the yards upon yards of now brown hair that lay on the tower floor and started to braid it. Eugene grabbed a broom and started to sweep up the fragments of glass from the shattered mirror. When that was complete, he ran a hand over the back of his head and glanced at Rapunzel. She was still braiding. This would take a long time. He didn't know what she intended by this; surely she didn't mean to keep the coil of dead hair... but, he supposed, he ought to let her do whatever she felt that she needed to do, even if it didn't make sense to him. People who had been through a major shock often focused on strange things in the immediate aftermath, he knew.

Then something caught his eye—a shiny gleam of metal on a chair. He felt his stomach lurch as he drew closer to it. Yes, there it was—the dagger that had pierced deeply into his side and almost ended his life. _Did _end his life, he amended. And there were still blood smears on it.

He glanced back at Rapunzel. She was still braiding. Quickly, before she could see what he had, he picked up the knife and looked around frantically for a place to stash it. His gaze caught an open door. That had to be the adoptive mother's room. He walked as casually as he could across the room, entered the bedroom, and gazed around.

The bed was covered in a deep red satiny cover that reminded him of the dress the woman had worn. It was a tall canopy bed, made of some kind of dark wood, carved very ornately with gargoyles worked into the bedposts. Unlike Rapunzel's light, airy canopy bed, this one was shrouded by heavy drapes. The room also contained a matching wardrobe, a dresser, and a small side table. It was probably an extremely costly set of furniture, Eugene thought, and even though its heavy Gothic style was now unfashionable, some collector would likely pay a premium for it regardless. _That could be useful, _he thought. They _would _need all the money they could get, and it wasn't as if they would want to have Gothel's old belongings with them.

Eugene set the dagger down on the table and quickly backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a click. There was something very creepy about walking around in a dead person's room, especially, he thought, when the dead person in question was his own would-be murderer.

Rapunzel had stopped braiding when he came back into the common area. Her eyes were wide. "What is it?" she asked him.

"I just wanted to close it off," he said. She didn't need to know about the dagger just yet.

Her face relaxed. "Oh," she said quietly.

"I'm going outside to check on Max," he said, going over to the kitchen to grab an apple. That wasn't entirely true; he _would _check on the horse when he went out, but he was actually going outside primarily to get some fresh air after seeing that room.

He walked down the stairs to the ground entrance of the tower and passed through the door. The sun had almost set, and the air was becoming cooler. The horse stood several feet away, warily eying something on the ground that billowed as it snagged on the rocks. Eugene grimaced as he realized it was Mother Gothel's old cloak and dress. He went over to gather the items up, gingerly shook them off to get rid of as much dust as possible, and realized at once that the dress was shockingly brittle and tattered, as if it were several hundred years old. What had happened to it? The cloak was in good shape, but it was almost as if the dress itself had aged when Rapunzel's hair was cut.

_Maybe it did,_ he thought as he rolled the cloak and dress up together. His own clothing had been cleaned of blood and mended of the dagger hole by Rapunzel's healing tears. The dress—what little he could make out—was of an archaic style, something he had seen only in fairy tale books set in medieval times. Gothel herself had certainly been old enough that her body simply disintegrated. According to what Rapunzel had told him, the woman hadn't said how _long _she had been the supposed guardian of the magic flower. It could have been for a very long time. For all either of them knew, Gothel might have been one of that early, pre-Charlemagne group of migrants here.

The idea of having encountered a (formerly) living relic of such an ancient era was too much for him to think about, and he supposed that it didn't matter anymore. Gothel was dead, and unless Rapunzel could produce it again with her tears—which he did not want to test—the magic was gone. It was a relief, in a way. _She didn't want to leave the tower because she was afraid of being exploited for her power,_ he thought, _and anyone who saw her 70 feet of hair would know something was very strange. Now she looks like a regular person, even if she does have it in her tears still._ He knew that there were still plenty of obstacles she could face as a young woman with no known family, connections, or money, but at least the magic no longer was a problem for her.

He went over to Max. "Here's an apple," he said, holding it out. Maximus gave him an unreadable look as he munched the apple right out of Eugene's hand.

They stood there for a moment, man and horse, eying each other, until finally he spoke. "Don't take this the wrong way—I'm very grateful to you for saving me and bringing me out here—but I don't know what you plan to do next, and I really hope it doesn't involve bringing the guards here to arrest me now that she is safe."

The horse gave him a deeply disapproving look.

"You're not going to do that, are you?"

Max glared at him and shook his head.

Eugene couldn't believe he was carrying on a conversation with a horse, but he had seen so many strange things over the past three days that he wasn't going to question this one. "Good," he said. "Because I think that would really upset her... I mean, she was going to give up her freedom to save my life. And also"—he lowered his voice—"I want to stick with her. I don't know how she will end up regarding me, whether as a friend or..." He trailed off in discomfiture as the horse grinned suggestively at him, as had happened the day before in the marketplace. "Anyway. I don't know. But I do know I want to help her. So—thank you for, um, no longer trying to get me jailed and hanged."

He backed away from the horse, giving him an uncertain, sheepish smile, and headed back into the tower. This was one of the weirdest encounters he had ever had, and yet, he somehow knew that the animal understood him. He also knew that it probably wasn't a good idea to pressure the horse to stay with them _indefinitely._ That would be useful when they had to leave, no doubt about it, but Max's patriotism was no secret and he figured it was best not to push his luck.

* * *

When he returned to the tower, Rapunzel was about halfway down the interminable braid of hair. "What are you planning to do with that?" he asked, sitting down in a chair.

She stopped braiding and looked up at him. "Coil it and put it away. I"—she paused painfully—"I don't want to throw it out; it's been a part of _me _for my whole life, and I just can't do that... but I don't want it on the floor and I don't want to look at it."

He thought about that. At least it made sense and was not disturbing. "Why don't you put it aside for a bit?" he suggested. "It's getting dark. It's half braided, so the strands aren't going to get scattered anywhere now."

She wiped her face with her sleeve. "All right." She set the braid on the floor and looked at him, eyes wide. "Eugene, I'm scared."

"Of what?" he asked gently.

"I don't know what we—I mean, I'm going to do now that she's... gone."

He felt stabbed all over again. Why was she unwilling to say "we"? Why didn't she include him? "You can say 'we' if you want," he said. "I told you earlier, I'm not going to abandon you. We're in this together, Rapunzel."

"You have a life, though," she said quietly. "You had plans and I interfered with them. And you have a home and—"

"No, I don't."

She stopped speaking and looked at him.

"Do you think I could have a settled place, a place where people knew where to find me, and last long?" he asked darkly. "I've had temporary hideouts, nothing more. What I own is what you see on me right now. I have no family, no real friends, nothing. And plans? Rapunzel, the only plan I had was to steal that woman's crown and sell it. I'm glad you interfered with that plan. There _is_ nothing else to draw me away from here, or from you. I wish you would believe me, because it's the truth."

The smile that been forming on her face quickly turned into a grimace. "Oh, I'm sorry—I didn't mean that you weren't telling the truth!"

"It's all right," he reassured her. "But from now on, can we talk about what _we _are going to do, rather than just you? Because you don't have to be alone."

She smiled again. "All right. So what are _we_ going to do now?"

He leaned back thoughtfully. "Well," he said, "first of all, the tower belongs to you now. It's yours to do as you please with. And... I thought that if you did want to stay here for a while and look for your birth family, you might be able to make some money selling whatever you don't want from this place." He gave a nod toward the bedroom with the closed door.

She looked down. "I don't even know where to start looking for information."

"The courthouse and city hall might have something," he said. "You would want to look for land deed records."

She gave a quick nod. "You mentioned money. Do you think it's going to be a problem soon?" Her voice wavered uneasily toward the end of the question.

He wished she had not asked him that. He still did not want to bring up the subject of leaving the tower and going far away, especially since any such move would be entirely due to _his _past thieving, but she was getting closer and closer to that topic. The primary reason he wanted to sell things from the tower was so that they could afford passage and moving expenses.

"I just want to make sure we have enough to eat," he fibbed. "I don't know what your mother did or how she earned money—"

"She usually just came back with things she said she had found in the wild," Rapunzel said. "She might have sold some of them to other travelers. I don't know."

"Is there anything _you _could make that you could sell?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed. "I have a pottery wheel, and I know how to make candles, and I can bake... oh, and I can paint, of course."

"Well, maybe you could take some of your supplies to town on Max and try to earn some money there, and while you were there, see if you could find records of that shack and your uncle."

She smiled, but only for a moment. It quickly turned into a frown as she asked him, "But what about you?"

"Rapunzel, I can't go into town. If I do, I will almost certainly be arrested again. I'll have to stay out here."

She looked down. "It doesn't seem fair to make you stay here. I don't want to be the one, now, to keep someone stuck inside this tower for their own safety. Maybe... maybe we don't have to stay here. Maybe we could go somewhere else, someplace where you aren't wanted."

Her voice was scarcely above a whisper, and he could tell that this was not an easy thing for her to say—but she _had _said it. She had arrived at the inevitable conclusion herself. He hadn't needed to be the one to break the bad news to her.

"Honestly, I think we'll have to do that at some point," he admitted. "That's another reason why we should start deciding what should be sold. It takes money to travel a long distance... and anything that _isn't _either sold or taken with us is wasted." He gave her a gentle look. "But we don't have to do that just yet. This place seems safe, and really hard to find. Nobody found it for eighteen years, right? Actually, I'd bet it was hidden for a lot longer than that. And even if the guards themselves found it, they wouldn't have to know that I was here. We can stay as long as you need to."

She gave him a wavering smile and stood up. He watched as she walked across the short distance to where he was seated. She stopped before him, and before he could react, she leaned over him and threw her arms around his neck.

He gulped. He still was not sure what she actually felt toward him—she might, after all, be sticking with him merely because he was familiar, the person she knew best after her late adoptive mother, and she needed that familiarity while her mind was still basically shocked and grieving—but he did know what he felt toward _her._ He loved her. He wanted her. And he was not going to withhold affection from her out of the fear of his own heart being broken.

Besides, being affectionate and kind to her might be the best way to get her to feel the same way, if she didn't already. So he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her back, comforting her as well as he could.

They stayed like that for a while until she broke the embrace. "I need to go to bed," she said awkwardly.

"Right," he said, drawing back. "You go ahead and get into your nightgown. I won't look," he added teasingly.

She giggled and smiled weakly at him as she scampered up the stairs. When she had passed through the curtains to her room, he glanced around the living room. He was tired too, and it _was _pretty late even though the sun had just set. At this northerly latitude, at this time of year, the sun remained in the sky until very late. He needed to sleep as well. However, he could not see any good places in this room to do so. The furniture was not at all suitable for an average-height man to sleep on comfortably... and he was _not _going to sleep in Gothel's bed. He supposed he would have to ask Rapunzel for a pillow and curl up on the floor rug.

"Eugene," she called from the top of the stairs.

He glanced up. She was dressed in a long, full-sleeved, loose-fitting gown. It covered her completely, but there was still something about seeing her in this that made him feel very uncomfortable. She was too innocent. She must not know that this was usually a very private, very personal sight for someone else to behold.

But he was not going to make her feel ashamed. "Rapunzel, what's the matter?" he asked carefully.

She gazed at him. "I... need you here."

His heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean, 'here'?" he asked.

"I don't want to sleep alone," she said.

_Oh, no,_ he thought. _She really has no idea._ "Rapunzel, it'll be fine," he said. "I'm going to be right here, just down the stairs." He smiled hopefully at her.

Her lower lip quavered. "But that's where all those bad things happened earlier," she protested. "Please. I just want you beside me, where I can know you're safe."

_Innocent. Totally innocent._ His thoughts were whirling in his mind. He did not want to upset her by denying her, but he was so afraid that if they snuggled, they might start to kiss and things would get out of hand... things she might regret later. And seeing her in her nightgown, so domestic and intimate, was not helping to cool his thoughts. Part of it was because, now that her hair was its natural color and short, she looked like a woman rather than a girl. He had been attracted to her in spite of her formerly girlish appearance, but _now..._.

"Rapunzel, you'll be fine."

Her eyes suddenly narrowed, and the needy desperation in her face took on a resolute turn as her muscles tensed. "I'll be fine with you here, yes—so you come upstairs and take your boots and vest off and get in bed with me right now, _Flynn!"_

His eyes popped open at her use of that name. His jaw dropped. But her face remained set as she stared him down. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited, clearly determined not to go anywhere until he relented.

He realized, at some point, that someone—or some_thing_—else was staring at him and glanced to his left. That lizard of hers was peering right at him, and he could have sworn that the thing was smiling at him again, just as it had done after the incident in the cave two days ago.

_Might as well give it up,_ he thought as he stood up and began to head toward the stairs. It was obvious what she needed him there for, and he would just have to keep his own thoughts under control. She smiled in satisfaction as he walked up the steps and passed through the curtains into her room.

The bed was already unmade, and she crawled between the sheets and watched as he unbuckled his boots and doublet in turn. He set them down carefully on the rug and gazed around the room; it was very cheery even in the candlelight, not at all like that other bedroom in this tower. He faced the bed once more. She was watching him patiently, keeping an eye on him that was almost possessive.

_No,_ he told himself in thought as he crossed over to the bed. _Control your thoughts._ He pulled back the covers and climbed beside her as she blew out the candle, leaving both of them in near darkness.

He felt the mattress shift—and then, a moment later, he felt her warm body pressed against his as she snuggled into him. Great, just great. But then, he thought, he knew this was what she was going to do. It was why she wanted him there. She needed to cuddle after all that happened to her today. He could not stop himself, and anyway, he figured she would like it as he put an arm around her and tucked her under his chin.

"Good night," she said contentedly.

In spite of himself, in spite of how awkward he felt at the moment, her peaceful tone brought a smile to his face. "Good night," he replied as he closed his eyes.


	4. A Beginning

**Author's Note**: This is what I didn't want to put in the previous chapter. I have also renumbered the chapter headings so that this fic begins with "Chapter One" instead of "Prologue Part I," because I think it's less confusing this way, what with ff's automatic numbering system in the chapter navigation menu.

Also, please note that **the rating of this story will probably increase to M with the chapter** **after the next one, **because the characters will consummate their relationship. There is an outside chance I will be able to work that scene into the very next chapter, but currently I don't think I will. That chapter is going to be focused on their trip once they leave the tower. Still, if you are following this story from the main story listing and do not have M-rated stories shown, please make note of this – before long, future updates to the fic will not automatically appear for you unless you either show M-rated fics or subscribe to this story.

* * *

**Chapter Four: A Beginning**

* * *

When Rapunzel woke up the next morning, the first thing she noticed was that Eugene was still right next to her, breathing smoothly in his sleep. He had barely moved in the night, and his arm was wrapped very tightly around her. Warmth filled her at the realization that he had held her, albeit unconsciously, all night long. A smile formed on her face. She liked him—a _lot._ She wished he would kiss her again, and she would actually take the initiative herself except for the fact that she was not sure if he wanted to. It seemed logical to her that if he liked it the first time, he should want to do it again, and it was his turn to do it if he did, she thought.

It was a strange feeling, wanting a man to kiss her. A few days ago, she had been under the impression that men were scary people with sharp teeth, brutal natures, and vicious tempers, who hurt women. Mother had said that only nasty, slutty women actually _liked _being around men, because kissing a man left bloody marks on a woman's mouth, and making a baby with a man was something too unpleasant to even discuss—but of course, she _did _discuss it in graphic detail. She had said that men made women hurt, bleed from their private places, and generally feel brutalized after that act, but that it was unfortunately necessary to continue the human race—and that Rapunzel _ought _to recognize what a saint Mother was to go through it to bring her into the world.

Of course, Mother had lied about what men looked like, lied about what kissing was like, and lied about being the woman to give birth to her... so as strange as it was to think about, Rapunzel was not feeling at all ashamed or dirty about her feelings for Eugene. Mother had surely lied about women who loved men, and though it was still distressing to think about, she could have lied about that _other _thing too. If there was one thing Rapunzel was sure of, it was that Eugene wouldn't purposely hurt her.

However, she wasn't ready to think about that, and thinking about Mother brought the rest of the previous day's events to the forefront of her mind. That wiped the smile off her face. Mother was dead—not just that, but she had betrayed Rapunzel, had set up Eugene to be killed, had tried to kill him herself, and had meant to haul Rapunzel away to who knows where.

But she was dead. Whatever else she had been, she _had _provided for Rapunzel. The person who had been a rock of stability her whole life, who had taken care of her, was dead. No longer would food, fabrics, paint, or anything else be brought to the tower for her from parts unknown. No longer could she take her own provisions for granted. She would have to make her own way now.

The song that she had sung the day before her birthday came back to her mind. _I guess my life really has begun now,_ she thought darkly. _I can't be a little girl anymore._

She focused again on the person lying beside her. _Not alone,_ she thought, trying to reassure herself. _He said yesterday that I didn't have to be alone._ This thought comforted her.

She almost didn't want to get out of bed because she knew it would wake him up too, but it needed to be done. She moved under the sheets, and as she did, she felt him stirring at once. Even though he didn't roll around, he was apparently a light sleeper.

His arm left her, freeing her to roll onto her back. He did so as well, his eyes blinking awake, and he opened his mouth wide in a yawn.

"Morning," she said, a smile forming on her face in spite of the thoughts that had just been filling her brain.

He closed his mouth and blinked again. Embarrassment seemed to come over him as he remembered where he was, but he managed a small smile as well. "Good morning," he mumbled. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I'm going to make breakfast... but, um..." She trailed off. She needed to get dressed, but she was uncomfortable demanding that he leave her room.

However, he understood at once and swung his legs off her mattress. "Right. Excuse me. I'll just take these with me"—he shuffled over to where his boots and doublet lay—"and go outside to the creek, just to wash up a bit. Splash my face, shave, you know."

"You have a razor blade?"

"In the pouch on my belt." He was buckling said belt as he spoke.

She watched as he quickly pulled on his boots and tramped down the stairs. She wished, suddenly, that he didn't feel that he had to leave when she got undressed... She sighed as she headed downstairs to where her wardrobe stood. He was just respecting her, she thought... and yet, she wished he could be in her presence openly when she got dressed and undressed. She was not sure what to make of this feeling, though. Did it her make her dirty to wish that, as Mother would have said? All she wanted was for it to be normal, comfortable... for the two of them not to feel that anything had to be hidden from each other. But if he didn't want that, what could be done?

* * *

They agreed that Rapunzel should take her paints and some homemade pottery into the Corona marketplace today. The royal wedding would be the day after tomorrow, and guests from the bride-to-be's home—as well as surrounding kingdoms—would be arriving, milling around the streets, and sampling local wares.

"Unless she had a cart that we can hitch to Max, we will have to get one to sell any furniture you don't want or take anything substantial with us," he said as he helped her onto the back of the horse. He fastened a burlap sack of pottery, carefully packed and cushioned with fabric scraps, to the saddle.

"I never saw one," Rapunzel said. "She must have had one a long time ago, in order to get my bed and other things moved in here, but I don't remember it. Every piece of furniture in here has been around as long as I can recall."

Eugene nodded. "You don't have to get one today, of course... but I'm just mentioning it because we will need one at some point." He smiled at her. "Good luck—and try to have fun!"

She managed a smile in return as Max started off in the direction of the kingdom.

Without delays, detours, or the concern about being seen by guards, Rapunzel arrived in the kingdom much more quickly than when she went with him the day before her birthday. Her spirits seemed to rise when the footbridge to the island came into sight. It was unfortunate, she thought, that they would not be able to settle here... this was such a nice place... but then, she told herself, there was so much of the world that she wanted to see, so maybe it was all right.

He was right about the guests arriving. The place was already busier than it had been even on her birthday. She could see ships pulling into port at the harbor and lots of people walking around town. A smile spread across her face as she dismounted Max and began to walk him toward the marketplace.

One of the first people she saw was the woman she had talked to on her birthday about the lanterns, the prince, and the crown. She waved at the woman for a moment before remembering that her hair was no longer long, blonde, and braided. Would the woman even recognize her now? And if she _did, _then what? How could Rapunzel account for the stark difference in her hair?

She quickly brought her hand down before the woman noticed it. A pang of sadness came over her. She would have to make new acquaintances.

_A fresh start,_ she told herself in thought. _Your life is beginning. Buck up._

She turned to a chubby man and woman setting up a vendor booth for what looked like wedding souvenir beer steins. "Can we set up anywhere in the marketplace?" she asked them.

The man nodded. "That's what all this open space is set aside for." He gazed at the bags hanging off Max's saddle as Rapunzel began to unload her pottery. "What have you got in there?"

"Pots," she said, setting them up on the ground, placing the smaller ones in front of the bigger ones so they could all be seen. She took her box of paints out of a small bag and gazed around. It was such a small pile of merchandise compared to what some vendors were setting up, and she had no booth or sign to draw attention to it. How would she even be noticed?

_Buck up,_ she told herself again. _You have to learn how things work somehow. If you don't sell anything today, then you can just paint a sign and sew a banner at the tower and come back again._

The female mug seller was gazing in interest at Rapunzel's handiwork. "You made all those?" she said. "And painted them?"

Rapunzel nodded.

"You are a good artist," she said.

"Thank you," she replied. "I'm just glad that the wedding is still on, you know, what with all the visitors buying things." _Am I ever,_ she thought privately, since to her, it also meant that Eugene was no longer planning to take the soon-to-be-princess's crown and run off with it.

"So are we," the woman confessed. "Crazy business, though, what with the thief escaping."

"Quite," Rapunzel replied delicately.

"He should stay out of Corona if he knows what is good for him," the man added darkly, "since they said that they would not pursue him beyond the borders if he left. If I were Rider, I would not toy with their forgiveness."

_We really do have to leave,_ she thought unhappily.

"And have you heard? The thugs that helped him escape also escaped!"

Rapunzel felt a rush of relief come over her, followed by shame. She had not even thought about the pub thugs who had broken Eugene out of prison. She had been thinking too much about him to worry about her friends from the pub. "How did that happen?" she exclaimed, eager for details.

"Well, apparently it was the Snuggly Duckling gang," the husband said. "Don't know if you know what that place is, but it's on the edge of Corona's territorial dependency for a reason. It's shady, and it attracts a rough crowd. When the rest of that gang showed up, it was all over."

"If I may say so, our guards are not what they ought to be," the wife said harshly. "The rumor is that they did not even capture Rider themselves, but that he was handed over to them tied up and knocked out on a boat with the crown strapped to him."

Rapunzel did not know what to say. She knew that had happened to him, but it hurt to hear it again. She could not argue the point about the guards, but she was glad that the guards were not competent enough to keep her friends locked up. She was glad they had all escaped.

"So where did the thugs go?" she asked.

"They went straight to the harbor, boarded a ship, and took off," the man said. "I suppose at least they won't be troubling this kingdom anymore. And rumor has it that the ship was used to smuggle liquor here to that wretched inn, so we might not have to deal with _that _anymore either."

Rapunzel nodded in agreement, still feeling relief course through her, but now it was mixed with something else: loneliness. The pub thugs were not going to be around anymore. Another tie to this area had been cut for her.

* * *

Before long, a fancy carriage with the sun motif entered the marketplace, and the residents began gathering around to catch glimpses of the people inside it. As it stopped, the footman opened the door and a trio of people disembarked: Bastion, his fiancée, and a black-haired man dressed in a costly-looking blue velvet suit with gold buttons, lace collar and cuffs, silk stockings, low-cut shoes, and a white-plumed tricorn hat. He caught a glimpse of a group of young women near a jewelry booth and beamed flirtatiously at them. Several of them gasped and smiled back, blushing.

Bastion and Georgiana watched in disapproval as their companion sauntered over to where the young women were. He simpered and smiled as he flirted with them, occasionally taking the hand of one and bringing it to his lips in a kiss. The royal couple exhaled in annoyance but drew away, heading to a different part of the marketplace, leaving the overdressed stranger to himself.

Meanwhile, he continued to flirt with the group of women until finally growing bored with them and moving on to the next thing that caught his interest. At last he reached the part of the square where the beer stein sellers and Rapunzel were. He gave one brief look to the middle-aged woman who was selling mugs. Between the graying hair in her head, the ring on her finger, and the fact that she was obviously with her husband, the velvet-garbed man decided to pass on her. His gaze dropped to where Rapunzel stood.

He doffed his plumed hat to her and bowed ostentatiously. "That is lovely pottery, my dear," he said, though his eyes were not on the pots.

"Thank you," she replied. "I made and painted it myself. Would you be interested in any of the pieces?"

He looked at the pots. Most of them were painted with florals, though there were a few solid-colored pieces. She was talented, he thought, but he had plenty of pottery imported from Asia and really did not need a piece that he would have to carry with him. However...

"I am afraid I do not need any pottery, Miss, but if you paint—and I notice that you have your paints with you this moment—I would be pleased to sit for a portrait." He had professional portraits of himself too, but this woman had a more whimsical style than the stately, highly realistic, somber style of painting of the portraits that adorned his house. And—though he would not admit it—he could not have too many pictures of himself.

Rapunzel looked down. "I would, but I have no canvas," she explained.

The man chuckled. "Ah, no matter. I can provide that. I shall be right back." And without further ado, the man walked off toward a store that sold art and drafting supplies.

Rapunzel waited, biting her lower lip in anxiety. She did not know who the man was, but she did know he had to be rich, and the prospect of painting a rich man was unnerving to her. Finally she noticed that the mug sellers were staring at her in surprise—and not a little envy.

"Do you know who that was?" she asked them.

The woman spoke. "That's Sir Richard Groth-Metterfield, the cousin of _our lady—"_

"The prince's fiancée?" Rapunzel interrupted.

"Yes, her cousin. He is some kind of English noble, they say—"

"Baronet," the husband corrected. "Not a noble, but richer than many who are. You've done well to get his patronage."

A group of rowdy-looking young men soon appeared before the beer stein booth, interested in buying several, and the couple happily turned their attention to the sale. Rapunzel waited until the velvet-garbed, lace-collared man in the feathered hat returned, a canvas under his arm.

He handed the canvas to her and sat on a stone bench, placing his hands in his lap and putting on an extremely proud face as Rapunzel got out her paints.

"How would you like me to paint you?" she asked. "I normally don't paint with high realism, but..."

Sir Richard smiled confidently. "My dear, all I ask is for the portrait to be clearly a depiction of me, and clearly handsome." He winked and smiled at her. "I have several portraits painted in the academic, classical style. I can tell yours is different. That is why I sat down." He winked again.

Rapunzel was starting to become uncomfortable. It seemed to her that he was flirting, but she just wanted to paint him. It was a job, and she did not need any foolishness while she worked. Taking a deep breath, she propped up the canvas and squirted some paint onto her palette, ignoring his vexing behavior.

Before long, she was deep in the artist's frame of mind, that strange state in which the passage of time did not seem to exist and things lost their names. As she focused on Sir Richard's figure, she found herself regarding his features not as mouth, nose, and eyes, but as shapes and colors to duplicate on canvas as best she could.

Within about two hours, the painting was complete. She blinked as she put the finishing touches on his shiny buttons. It was a good representation, she thought. As the aristocrat came over to examine it, she noticed his eyes grow wide with approval. He reached into a large pouch attached to his suit belt.

"This is fine work, Miss..." He trailed off inquiringly as he fished in his pocket.

Rapunzel looked down. She did not know her last name. All her life, she had just been Rapunzel, and until she left the tower and realized that people all had at least two names, she did not let that trouble her. Now, it did. She had not yet found any information about the occupants of the abandoned fisherman's shack, and Mother Gothel had never even said what her own surname was.

She grasped at the first surname that came to her mind. "Fitzherbert," she muttered, feeling a slight blush come over her cheeks.

"Ah, another of my own countrymen?" he asked cheerily, bringing out a bag that clinked with coins.

Rapunzel shook her head. "I was born here—well, not _here,_ but in a nearby region."

Sir Richard was not deterred. "Still, with that name, you must have some old English in your background. I hope you get to visit the ancestral land someday, my dear." He opened the bag, counted out a number of gold coins, and passed them to Rapunzel as he accepted the painting.

She was astonished. She had never actually seen a gold coin before—when Eugene had bought food for them on her birthday, he had paid in lower-denomination coins—and this man had just given her almost two dozen. Thanking him, she quickly stowed the money in her paint box and shoved it back into its bag as he walked off proudly.

As the day progressed, Rapunzel sold several of her pots, adding to the total that she would be bringing back. She did not have any other commissions, but she was so thrilled with the amount she had earned with the one that she did not worry about that. At last, when her stomach began to feel rumbly, she decided it was time to pack up and head back to the tower. She would have a lot to tell him.

* * *

The sound of coins clinking together preceded Rapunzel as she walked up the stairs to the main floor of the tower. When she appeared at the landing, he was waiting for her.

"I heard you coming," he remarked, holding her hand as she stepped up. His gaze dropped to the bag of money. "Had a good day, I guess?"

She beamed at him as she went over to the table. He watched, eyes widening, as she emptied the bag of money on the tabletop. A gasp filled his face.

"How did you _do _that?" he exclaimed, eying the gold coins in particular.

She sat down at a chair and pulled a piece of bread off a loaf. "Sorry," she said as she shoved it into her mouth. "I'm really, really hungry." She swallowed the bread and washed it down with a glass of apple juice. "All right. Most of that—the gold, at least—I earned by painting a portrait of the soon-to-be-princess's cousin."

A shadow seemed to pass over his face. The obvious pleasure he had been displaying appeared to lessen a bit. "Oh?" he said. "Who is that?"

"Sir Richard-something. He had a long name," she said, frowning. "I don't remember it all. But he looked rich, dressed in velvet and lace, and paid very well, as you can see."

Eugene was definitely starting to frown. "Oh... well, all right..." He cleared his throat and glanced down awkwardly. "How did the painting itself go? Was it one of those cases where you have to make some hideously ugly old chap look a lot better than he does in reality, or he'll be insulted?"

Rapunzel's eyes shot up from the tabletop at this. What on earth did he mean by such a question? "He wasn't bad-looking," she explained in confusion. "He was young, perhaps your age."

Eugene bit his lip. "Engaged or married?" he squawked.

"No," she replied slowly, as she realized exactly what his issue was and why he was asking her such peculiar questions. She broke into a smile and tried to keep from laughing, but a giggle escaped her mouth anyway. At the sound of her laugh, he suddenly looked straight at her. When their eyes met, and she could see how tightly constricted his facial muscles were, she knew. "Eugene," she said, smiling. "You are jealous."

"You think so? No, I'm really glad for you... glad that you could find some handsome rich man to provide you with this much money..." The bitterness in his voice was undeniable.

Another laugh burst out of her. "He paid me for work!" she said. "He didn't 'provide' anything! Eugene. Don't be silly."

"I'm not being silly! I'm just..." He trailed off, staring at her with clear need in his eyes.

She smirked at him. "He didn't have a smolder, you know."

At last, he cracked a small smile. "I bet he didn't. No one else does, after all."

She got up and stood in front of him, still smirking. "His hair was black," she said. "I like... hmm... chestnut brown a lot better." She reached up and touched the lock of hair that fell over his right temple.

The smile on his face turned into a smirk as well. "What else was wrong with him?" he asked in a half-growl.

The room suddenly seemed warmer to Rapunzel, but she didn't mind. "He looked silly in those clothes," she said. "Overdressed. I am so glad you don't wear lace and feathers."

"Lace and feathers?" Eugene said with a chuckle. "No, you won't see me dressed like that. What else? Did he wear shiny little pointy-toed shoes?"

"He did," she said. "No nice manly boots." She paused, looking up and down Eugene's figure. "And hardly any muscle."

Eugene was smirking broadly. "I am so sorry you had to look at him long enough to paint him. A useless fop like that should have paid you even more than he did."

Rapunzel laughed—and then, suddenly, it was too much for her. She stood on her toes and lunged at him. He reacted instinctively, wrapping one arm around her waist and cupping her face with his other hand. It was hard to say who wanted it more... but as their lips met and parted for each other, there was a greediness to their actions that could not be denied.

They fell into the kitchen chair where Rapunzel had just been sitting, with her in his lap. He tightened his grip on her waist, making sure she was comfortable and could not easily slip out. She threaded her fingers through his hair, rubbing his scalp and making him groan in pleasure.

When at last they had to take a break, she regarded him with a soft gaze, still relishing the feel of his arms around her and hers around him. "Why didn't you want to do that again until now?" she asked.

He smiled sheepishly. "I haven't been sure what you really thought of me."

Her eyebrows knitted. "Why? Was it something I did?"

"No," he said. "I just mainly wasn't sure if you were clinging to me because... well... because you had no one else and I was there," he finished in embarrassment.

Her face fell. "I wouldn't do that," she said. "I wouldn't cling to just anyone who happened to be there. I like _you._ More than like. I liked you before—_that—_happened. Please believe me."

He smiled. "I believe you." He squeezed her close and rested his head on her shoulder.

* * *

That night, he was even more anxious about sleeping in her bed than he had been the night before. He was relieved that she did feel what he hoped for, but with that confession had come an added level of discomfiture to the prospect of snuggling against her in bed. At least last night, she had only curled against him for comfort and peace of mind. He had a terrible fear that she knew too little about romantic affection to understand where unrestrained, eager kissing and groping would lead if left to run their natural course.

Fortunately for him, though, she appeared to understand a lot more than he thought. When they cuddled up that night, she drew away from him after a few minutes of kissing him and regarded him with that same soft gaze that her face had borne after their kiss that afternoon. "I hope you don't mind," she said awkwardly, "but I still don't feel comfortable with... more."

Even in the dark, he could tell that she was blushing with the knowledge of what that "more" entailed. "It's fine," he reassured her. "I would feel wrong expecting 'more' of you right now. I love you too much."

She looked away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. He felt as if a stone were dropping down his stomach. _There you go again,_ he thought despairingly. _Too much, too soon._ "That is, I mean..." He trailed off. "I'm sorry, Rapunzel. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She glanced back up at him immediately, tears glistening in her eyes. "No, _I'm _sorry," she exclaimed. "I'm so sorry. It's _her."_

"Your... mother?"

She nodded against his chest. "There was this thing she would do. She would say, 'I love you,' then I was supposed to say, 'I love you more,' and then she would say, 'I love you _most.'_ I just... remembered..."

He felt sickened and angry. What kind of twisted game was _that?_ It was a way for the woman to make Rapunzel believe that her love was inferior, that's what. "Rapunzel," he said firmly, "that is not how love works. People should love each other _the same._ It isn't a contest about who can love the other 'more' or 'most.' She just wanted to make you think you didn't love her as much as she loved you, to make you feel bad about yourself."

He was so angry, he did not quite mind what he was saying, and when the last comment left his mouth, he wished he hadn't said it. He remembered that, even though _his _only interaction with the woman was to be knifed by her and to watch her threaten to lock Rapunzel up for the rest of her life, for Rapunzel, she had been as a mother. And he remembered that she had just died yesterday.

However, Rapunzel did not look any more upset than she already had been. She merely looked contemplative. In fact, the unhappiness appeared to be vanishing from her face by the moment the more she thought about what he had just said. At last she looked up at him again. "You're right," she said. "But I'm still sorry for spoiling the moment. I do love you."

He smiled gently. "I love you too, and it's all right. We should have plenty of moments in the future."


	5. A Decision

**Author's Note**: Once again, thanks for the interest in this story. Three points in this A/N.

One, I thought that this chapter would include details of their travel, but as you can see, it ended up too long already. That will be in the next chapter.

Two, I have made Eugene be from England because his given name is extremely English (and, for that matter, his assumed name is Irish). I know not everyone in this fandom does this, but this story will.

And three, **the rating of this story will increase to M with the next chapter**. If you are following this story from the main story listing and do not have M-rated stories shown, please make note of this. Future updates to the fic will not automatically appear for you unless you either show M-rated fics or subscribe to this story.

* * *

**Chapter Five: A Decision**

* * *

The next day, the day before the royal wedding, Rapunzel and Eugene loaded Max down with pots and candles—the latter of which Rapunzel had an excess stashed around the tower. He was startled to see just how many there were, and she had to sheepishly explain that she made them when she was bored.

"Do you want me to look for a cart today?" she asked as she prepared to mount the horse. "For the future, when we have to sell the furniture and then... move?"

He gave her a sympathetic look. "You've been thinking of that?" he asked gently.

"Well, what I told you about yesterday evening—the king's statement that you won't be pursued beyond the borders of the country... we're still technically in the kingdom. They _could _arrest you if they found the tower and demanded to search it." Her lower lip trembled.

He gave her a long, thoughtful look and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Are you worried about me?" he asked.

She looked back at him. "Yes," she confessed. "I am. I want you to be safe."

"I'll be safe out here," he said. "This tower is as well hidden as anything can be. And as far as the king's decree is concerned, it's much more merciful than I hoped for. The fact that they made it known to the public tells me that they _meant _for me to know about it... and I am finished thieving anyway." He leaned over and pecked her on the forehead.

She smiled at his light kiss, but it didn't last. A worried frown formed on her face again as he drew back. "Oh! There was something else. The Snuggly Duckling ruffians have left," she said. "I forgot to tell you that. The whole gang had to board a ship and leave after they broke you out. So there is another reason for me not to remain here."

He looked surprised at this. "I didn't know they meant that much to you."

She laughed. "Not like you," she said. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "But I did count them as friends, and now they're gone."

His hands slipped down her back and rested on her waist. "I'm glad that you aren't taking it too hard—the fact that we have to leave, I mean," he said. "But it isn't necessary to get a cart _now._ There is a lot of stuff to be sold, and you wanted to find out anything you could about your family. Besides, I still haven't worked out where we'll need to go. There are several possibilities."

They hugged again before finally breaking apart. Maximus took off at a brisk walk as he had done the day before, full bags of merchandise dangling from the saddle. Before they passed through the curtain of vines, Rapunzel turned around and gave him one last smile.

The marketplace was, if anything, even more bustling than it had been the previous day, and the vendors benefited. Over the course of the day, Rapunzel managed to sell half her pottery and about a quarter of her candles, but when the sun began to dip toward the edge of the horizon and she made an accounting of what she had earned, disappointment filled her face. Even though she had sold many more items, the proceeds were significantly less than the sum she had received for the one painting commission the day before.

_I can't support us,_ she thought despairingly as she tied the bags back to the saddle and mounted Max. The weight of that realization was settling down in her stomach, making her feel queasy and nervous. _I can't even support myself. I was too excited from the commission to look at this realistically. This income could not possibly pay for rent. How are we going to live?_

That anxiety weighed on her all the way back, so much so that she found herself thinking that they would be better off staying in the tower after all. Hadn't Mother managed to feed and clothe two people for eighteen years by foraging for food in the wild? Rapunzel could not help but think that, rather than face the unknown, it would be better to stick with what she knew so well. The fact that Eugene would certainly grow restless being stuck inside the tower, unable to go outside for fear of discovery—exactly as she had once been—was a thought that she kept trying to push out of her mind without success.

As Maximus approached the tower, Rapunzel suddenly recognized where they were—and what was nearby—and, on a sudden impulse, turned her horse in the direction of the Snuggly Duckling. She didn't know why. There could be nothing there for her, and she wouldn't even recognize anyone who was there now, but for some reason, she just wanted to see the old place. Maybe it was to reinforce to herself the reason _why _they had to move.

The horse gave her a very disapproving glare as she brought him up the path to the rickety tavern. "It's all right, Max," she said, patting him. "You can take care of yourself. Nobody should be able to harm you."

She dismounted the horse and, gingerly, walked into the dark inn. It was just as she had seen it before—mounted antlers on the wall, rustic chandelier, wooden interior, and foul stenches permeating everything. Except for one thing—the place was now empty of customers.

"Well, what can I do for you?" came a gruff voice.

Rapunzel whirled around to try to find the source of the voice. Her gaze soon fixed upon the ruffian who was the chef and bartender for the place.

He glared back at her. "You going to order?"

Her face fell. This was the same ruffian who had served the place when she had been there. Now that her hair was short and brown, he apparently didn't even recognize her.

"Cat got your tongue?" the chef taunted her. "What do you want, girl? You lost?"

_What _do _I want?_ she wondered. _Why did I come in here?_ She took a deep breath. "I was just wondering... the gang, do you know where they went?"

The innkeeper's eyes narrowed in suspicion for a moment, but as his gaze traveled over her face, recognition dawned on his face and his eyes widened. "You're that girl," he said in a shocked tone. "That girl who got 'em all singing. What happened to your hair?"

"I changed it," she said. "It was... a problem... being so long. Well, actually, Eu—I mean, Flynn changed it. Cut it. And turned it brown. This is its natural color."

The innkeeper let out a sound that sounded like half a snarl, half a growl. "Don't mention Rider to me," he grumbled. "I lost all my regular customers because they took a notion to save that thief's sorry ass and then had to get the hell out of town."

"He saved _me,"_ she said pointedly. "I was in trouble. He's with me now, and he isn't a thief anymore."

The innkeeper regarded her with a measured look. "Then I just hope he don't run out on you," he said crassly. "And to answer your question, no, I don't know where they all went." He picked up a dishrag and began to clean a mug.

"I'm sorry about your... business," Rapunzel said haltingly.

The man shrugged. "I'll get some more customers soon enough, I'm sure. But now that you're here, it reminds me. They left some stuff when they set out to break your man out of jail. Hookhand said you two were to have it. It's in the stable."

As she left the inn and walked toward the stable, Rapunzel wondered what it could possibly be. She rather hoped it was not the materials for the ruffians' various hobbies and dreams. Such things would be of little use to her and would, in fact, only be in the way.

Something caught her attention as she searched the stables. "Maximus," she said, heading over to the stall where the horse was standing. "What—_oh."_

Maximus was staring right at a shabby, unpainted, but rather large cart that was empty except for two items—a sealed envelope and a familiar brown leather bag. The bag, she knew, was Eugene's old satchel. How the ruffians had managed to deliver it here, she had no idea, because everything that she had heard indicated that the whole gang went straight to the Corona harbor after breaking him—and each other—out of prison. She would ask the innkeeper, but in the meantime, she wanted to see the letter.

She picked it up, broke the seal, and took out the note. The handwriting was rough, but she could easily understand what it said.

_To Rider and Blondie. This cart belonged to Vlad but he ain't got a use for it now, so he wanted you to have it. We all think it would come in handy for when you got to get out. Rider's bag is also here. The horse brought it back to the pub night of the capture and shook it in front of a wanted poster of him and that's how we all knew something was wrong. Must have been left lyin on the ground. Anyway we all figured he'd want that back too._

_Go. Live your dream._

Rapunzel felt tears come to her eyes as she finished reading the note. She placed it carefully inside the satchel, which she then swung over her head. She turned to Maximus. "Max," she said, "do you think you would mind being hitched up to this?"

* * *

Eugene was startled when Rapunzel returned with her extra merchandise not attached to Max's saddle, but in a horse-drawn cart. He was even more shocked when she took off his familiar old leather bag and handed it to him, explaining that there was a note inside.

"I think Maximus deserves apples for all that he's done," Rapunzel said firmly as she headed up the stairs of the tower. As Eugene read over the note, he glanced up and nodded silently in agreement. Behind them, the horse whinnied in approval.

That evening, as they sat on Rapunzel's bed, legs tucked under the covers and his arm cuddling her close, she mentioned the anxiety that she had felt earlier in the day about money.

"I just don't know how we're going to make it," she said, shuddering. "You saw how little I brought back today. You didn't complain about it, but I could tell... I mean that your reaction was so different yesterday."

He gave her a sympathetic look. "Why would I have complained about it? It wasn't your fault. You're the most enthusiastic person I've ever known when it comes to doing something—anything—but you can't _make_ people buy from you. I know you did the best you could."

She sighed and snuggled closer to him. "But that doesn't help if we need money and can't get it. And... this is a great time. Late spring, perfect sunny weather, and a major event in the kingdom tomorrow, so there are lots of people around. If I _still _can't make enough to support us, then how will we manage in the dead of winter on an average day? _Anywhere?"_

He brought her legs across his lap. "Rapunzel, I knew you couldn't make enough to support us," he said in a voice that was suddenly sad and world-weary.

She drew back. "What?"

"What you were selling isn't something people will buy every day. People will buy candles and pottery only when they need them, for the most part... and you don't have a permanent shop, because the amount of merchandise you have is small, not nearly enough to fill a store."

"I noticed that yesterday," she mumbled.

"And there's something else," he said, uncertainty creeping into his words. "Many people would buy from a man rather than a single woman."

"Why?" she exclaimed, a flash of anger in her voice.

"Some people want to buy only from someone who was trained in the craft, and women generally aren't apprenticed. Some people look down on a single woman who is trading and selling to make money; they think she shouldn't be doing that unless it's to help a husband. Others think a man could just make better things. I know it's stupid," he said quickly as her face twisted in outrage, "and it's not true. You're brilliant, Rapunzel. But I can't do anything about this."

The angry look remained in her face for a moment more before melting into unhappy resignation. She gave a sob and lay her head down on his shoulder.

"Mother was right," she said. "The world _is _a cruel place. Even with my hair magic gone, everything is against me."

"I'm not against you."

She looked up and met his eyes silently.

"Here is what I was thinking," he said. "We both knew we would not be able to stay here. We knew we would have to settle somewhere else. And when we do, I won't have to hide in a building, because there won't be a warrant out for me there."

Her eyes lit up. "And you think _you _could support us?" she asked eagerly. "I didn't know—what can you do? You've never told me—"

He laughed. "You thought I wasn't good for anything except thieving?"

She blushed. "I'm sorry!"

He smirked. "Don't be. You wouldn't be _too _far off the mark with that. But thieving has given me a good idea of the value of things, how to budget expenses... and in the place where I was born, I never got in trouble with the law, and I know people there. I think we could have a little shop with all kinds of things."

"And you think it could support both of us?"

"Hmm... yeah." He had, in fact, been considering possibilities all day, dredging up memories of people he had known who might still be willing to help him. _Them,_ he amended. Now that Rapunzel was seeing for herself exactly how much the world's deck of cards was stacked against her as a rootless young woman, his determination to save her from life's ugly side was becoming even stronger.

Some of the tension in her seemed to seep out. "I'm so sorry that I'll be such a burden on you," she said. "Mother was right about that too."

"_What?"_ he exclaimed, his thoughts brought back to the present at once. "Did she tell you that's what you were?"

"In a way," Rapunzel said unhappily. "She would say negative things about me and then talk about how good she was to provide for me anyway."

Dismay and anger were filling his face. "You didn't deserve what she said," he said in a harsh tone. "You're a sweet, kind, intelligent person, and I care for you. You aren't a burden."

She digested what he said before speaking. "When I was trying to sell things, I was thinking I could support us both, and I didn't regard you as a burden then. So it makes sense."

"Exactly," he said. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

She smiled back at him as he drew away. At that point they seemed to come to a mutual, wordless understanding that the conversation was concluded. She snuffed out the candle and snuggled into him as they lay down on their pillows.

* * *

The next day was the day of the big wedding. Rapunzel filled her cart with things she had made, this time including some baked goods that she got up early in the morning to prepare. That was a busy day, and a good one for income. The amount that she brought back was still not sufficient, she knew, but now that she was assured that they would not have to rely on her selling her wares, she felt less anxious about it.

In the days after the royal wedding, she continued to bring things to the island, but she noticed that the amount of money she made did drop off once the guests left and life in town settled back to a regular routine. She found herself itching to do something else, too—something that, truth be told, she had been postponing.

One morning a week after her birthday, they were sitting at the table and having breakfast when she spoke up.

"I think I am going to go by the city hall and courthouse today to see what sort of records they have," she said.

Comprehension flooded his face. "Ah."

"It isn't going to change my mind about leaving," she said, her voice a little shaky but nonetheless determined. "I just want to know... if I can." The determination suddenly faltered, and her lower lip trembled. "I want to know who I am."

Several days ago, she had told Eugene about how she felt incomplete without having a surname. It had prompted a search of Gothel's personal effects, including the papers and books she had kept, to try to find out if she had a surname recorded anywhere. They had found nothing. He had told her of his suspicion that, because of her guardianship of the regenerating flower, she might have been born before most people took on surnames and simply never bothered to give herself one.

Eugene really hoped that Rapunzel's inquiries would be fruitful, and not only for her peace of mind. He had his own reasons for wishing this. His intention was to return to England, where he had been born and where he—as Eugene Fitzherbert—had a clean record, but he was seriously concerned that she would not be permitted to board a ship without a complete name and records of who she was. That could be _very _problematic. He had, without telling her, gone to the Snuggly Duckling on the day of the royal wedding and left a letter there for the innkeeper to mail across the water to London, requesting passage for two on a ship that would leave from Amsterdam. In that letter, he had provided his own birth name, birthdate, and original residence, which could be cross-checked by local officials, but he had referred to her as _his wife_ whom he had met on the Continent.

It was outrageously presumptive, he knew, but he didn't know what else could be done. It was what he wanted someday, anyway—but he also knew that it would be difficult to marry without any records of her birth.

But he didn't tell her any of this. Instead he gave her a compassionate look. "I hope you can find something," he said gently.

She gave a wavering smile back at him as she stacked up her plates and prepared to leave for the day.

* * *

Once she was in the city, she headed straight to city hall. She had gone on horseback, having nothing that she intended to sell today, and as she dismounted Max in front of the columned building, she withdrew an apple from the bag—Eugene's old satchel, in fact—that she now carried with her whenever she went into town. The horse munched the apple contentedly.

She walked up the imposing steps and went into the building, the entrance of which she noticed was flanked by two guards. Unlike the charming, somewhat rustic style of the residential and commercial buildings, this place was formal, almost cold in its style. She walked quickly across the cool marble floors, wishing, for the first time in her life, for a pair of shoes. Nervousness began to overtake her as she headed to the first place where she saw other people, a carved desk with a government official seated behind it and a small group of citizens waiting in line. She took her place at the end of the small line.

At last her turn came. "What's your business?" the clerk asked gruffly.

"I'm here to inquire about records of land deeds," she said. "I need to find out who lived somewhere once."

"That way." The clerk pointed down the main hallway to the right of the desk. "Second door on the right."

She headed down the large, mostly empty hall. It was interesting, with its bas-relief sculpture, including the ubiquitous sun emblem of the kingdom, but it was still a bit too formal for her taste. There was something very imposing about it. She was glad to slip into the records room and find that this room was much simpler, with only crown molding at the top of the walls, and a purple-and-yellow flag standing on its pole behind a large, heavy desk.

A sour-looking state clerk peered down at her. "What can I do for you?" he grunted.

Unlike the clerk in the hall, he was dressed very similarly to the guards, wearing the same kind of livery and colors, and this made Rapunzel nervous. "I need to find out who used to live somewhere, eighteen years ago," she managed to say.

"What's the address?"

She gulped. "I don't know. It's not on a road, really. It's a little abandoned house on the edge of the shore."

The clerk raised an eyebrow. "Is it on the island or the mainland?"

"The mainland."

At that, the clerk gave a laugh. "Then I can't help you. That's just the dependent territory. We don't keep records of where _those_ people live, and they don't have deeds."

Rapunzel's heart sank. "But why?" she exclaimed.

"That is territory set aside by the King for those people who can't pay full citizenship taxes, like land taxes and property taxes. What do you think pays for the cobbled street, the public accommodations, this building you're standing in? The King didn't want to jail 'em because of being poor and being unable to pay taxes. But that's why that place isn't developed. We tax 'em a pittance, but they don't have deeds to their land." He paused. "I can show you the territory resident tax list for that year—what was it, eighteen years ago, you said?"

She nodded, unable to respond verbally.

The clerk began to fish around in his desk drawers for the record. "I can show you a list of everyone who lived out there that year, but it won't have addresses." He pulled out a faded document and pushed it across his desk toward her.

She took the paper and scanned the list of names. It didn't even include full households, just the head of household. There were about one hundred names listed. _One of these people is my uncle,_ she thought—but she could not know who it was.

Sighing, she passed the paper back to the clerk. "Thanks," she said in a small voice. She turned and silently headed out of the room and down the imposing hallway.

"That was quick," remarked the first clerk to whom she had spoken as she passed by his desk. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"No," she confessed. She hesitated for a moment; would he laugh at her if she told him what she was really trying to find? She supposed that it didn't matter if he did. "I was born in the outer territory, but my... family... gave me up because they were poor, and I want to see if I can find out who they were now."

The clerk looked thoughtful. "Well, you might try the churches, then. They keep the birth and christening records."

A spark of hope filled Rapunzel again at this. A faint smile formed on her face as she thanked the clerk and left the building.

The first place she tried was the cathedral—or, more accurately, the office of the Catholic bishop. He was an older man, gray-headed and kindly-faced, and he was eager to assist her when she explained her situation to him. But after he looked through christening records for Rapunzel's date of birth and the days immediately following it, it gave him great pains to have to inform her that no babies were brought to him by territory residents during that period.

"You might try the Lutheran and Presbyterian churches," he suggested, "if you don't know what your family was."

Disappointed, she thanked him and continued on her search.

That evening, as she returned to the tower on Maximus, Eugene was waiting for her outside. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the look of rage and unhappiness that filled her face, and as he helped her off the horse, he immediately hugged her close, sure of what he was about to hear before he even heard it.

"There was nothing," she managed to say. _"Nothing._ The stupid kingdom doesn't even keep records of where people live unless they live on the island, but that wasn't the worst of it. That is just their policy. The worst of it..." She choked on her words.

He squeezed her. "Let's go inside."

He continued to hold her as they walked up the stone steps into the tower. Once inside, she glared at the closed door to Gothel's old bedroom. She breathed in and out deeply.

"She stole my identity away from me," she said furiously. "She never registered me anywhere. She just took me from them and hid me in this tower because of what my hair could do! She didn't even give me a complete name!" She turned to him, raging. "I don't think they would have let her take me away if they had known—"

He hurried over to her and put his arms around her.

"I don't know where to look anymore," she cried. "I can't believe she did this to me. She really _didn't _intend for me to ever leave the tower, because I can't _function _in the world without even a full _name."_ She broke away from him and glared at the closed door again. "I want everything in that room out of here," she declared.

At last he spoke. "Her things?"

"Yes," she said. "I want them gone. They are of no value now except as something that can be sold."

He could not argue the point, but he hated that it took anger and resentment for her to be ready, at last, to begin clearing out the tower of what they did not need. He was also very worried, now, about what he could do to keep her with him if they left continental Europe. He was not overly _surprised _that she had been unable to turn anything up, but it was still a problem.

* * *

The next day, they loaded the cart with a few items of small furniture from Gothel's bedroom. He gave her an estimate of what price she should sell them for, and with that, she headed off for the island.

She came back that evening with significantly more money than she had drawn from her candles and pottery—because she had managed to sell Gothel's side table and bed covers. He added the money to the slowly growing store of funds that they were keeping at the tower.

This process continued. It was a bit problematic to get the woman's heavy bed out of the tower, but Eugene was surprised—though, he supposed, he shouldn't have been—at how strong Rapunzel's arms were.

Sometimes he would ask her, before she left the tower, to buy certain kinds of books at the bookstore and bring them back. He wanted a detailed book of maps one day, which she realized would be important for their travels, but most of the time he wanted fictional books. She realized, with some dismay, that he was getting bored at the tower during the day, and realized that they would need to leave soon for that reason too. It _wasn't _fair to ask anyone to stay cooped up in this place. She knew that from personal experience.

She did _not _yet know that, about every other day, he would don a traveling cloak to hide his face and go to the Snuggly Duckling to see if he had received any reply to his letter regarding passage to England. He knew that if it worked out in his favor, he would have to tell her that he had left the tower, but he would deal with that when and if the time came. He still was not sure what he would do about _her _situation if the request was granted, though.

At last Gothel's room was empty of furniture, the wooden box of coins in the tower was heavy, and the only things left in the room were small personal effects. Eugene gathered these items into a pile.

"I'll need to have something to start on if I do open a shop," he explained. "This is the kind of thing I have in mind. It would be what's called a curiosity shop. Or a junk shop," he added with a grin.

She grinned back at him. "I am glad to see the room empty. Mostly empty, anyway."

"So am I."

* * *

From that point onward, they started making lists of what furniture they could fit into the cart and what they would need to sell. They agreed that certain items were useful for making money, such as Rapunzel's pottery wheel, and these things should definitely be kept. Her clothes, personal effects, and items of sentimental value would be kept—such as the green chair where she had tied him up the day that they met. But much of the furniture would have to go, and Rapunzel began taking it into town—the unused and unimportant pieces first—to sell.

One day, as she was leaving town, she took Max on a detour. Rather than heading on the quickest way back to the tower, she took him down a scrappy path along the shore of the mainland. The sky was getting heavy, with afternoon thunderstorms beginning to form offshore and threaten, but she did not care. She needed to see this place again, to go inside and try to come to terms with it all.

Max seemed to understand where they were going and what it meant to her. As the rickety abandoned shack came in sight, he turned around and gave her a very sympathetic look. She managed a weak smile. "I'm all right, Max," she said softly.

He stopped a few feet away from the place. She got out of the driver's seat of the cart and took a deep breath as she faced the shack. She hoped it was safe to go inside. It would be bad if the floor fell through. However, she had to try.

She noticed that the door was falling off its hinges as she gingerly stepped up and walked in. However, the floor seemed to be sound, and the roof—though filled with openings now—did not seem to be in danger of falling in. She looked around the empty place. There were only two rooms. The one she had entered had a long-unused wood-burning stove, and one much smaller room adjoined this main one.

There were suggestions that this had once been a house. A bunk was built into the wall of the main room, and the remains of a homemade rag-stuffed mattress still rested on it. A battered old wooden table was pushed into a corner close to the stove. The tabletop was stained. She wondered if this had been where they ate, or where her uncle cleaned fish. It was probably both, she realized. A chair with a broken board stood against another wall. Everything, Rapunzel noticed, was covered in dust, and the scent of mold and mildew permeated the air. It was unsurprising, given the close proximity to water, but it gave an air of unhealthiness to the whole place.

She passed into the small room. Unlike the room she had just come from, this one was completely empty, and it was not much bigger than a closet. Was this, perhaps, where her mother had slept, if the bunk in the adjoining room had been her uncle's? Or had it been the reverse? She sighed to herself as she realized there was no way to know.

"Who were you?" she said softly. "What happened to you?" Tears threatened to form in her eyes as she walked back into the main room.

Nothing personally identifying remained; that much was clear. No papers or books—if these people had even been literate—were present. She had not expected it, but it was still disappointing.

_They didn't keep me,_ she thought. _They gave me away because they couldn't care for me, and since then, they must have moved away. What she did to me afterward is not their fault, but she was the only family I have known, not them. The people who lived here..._ Rapunzel sighed. The tears she had not wanted to feel had formed in spite of everything. _The people who lived here have not really been my family in eighteen years, and she is not my family anymore either. It doesn't matter now. They moved on, and I have to let go too._

She felt hot, damp streaks on her cheeks as the tears streamed down her face, but as she turned around and left the house, she did finally feel a little closure.

* * *

One day about a month after Rapunzel's birthday, Eugene received the letter he was waiting for. His stomach churned with anxiety as he read it. _I have to tell her now,_ he thought.

That evening, she came back from selling furniture in town and noticed how uneasy he looked. "What's the matter?" she asked him as she sat down.

He looked sheepish. "I have a confession to make, Rapunzel."

"Oh?"

He nodded and opened the letter. "I've been leaving the tower."

She practically jumped out of her seat, her face turning pale. "What? Eugene! What have you been doing? Where have you—"

"Only to the Snuggly Duckling, and under a hood," he said. "Rapunzel, I had to have a letter sent to reserve passage on a ship, and I couldn't very well give the tower as my address for correspondence. I haven't been using 'Flynn' in the letters either," he tried to reassure her.

Her color was coming back, but her eyes narrowed. "Why haven't you told me until now?" she said.

"I didn't know if my request would be approved. I'm sorry, Rapunzel," he added, noticing how hurt she now looked.

She took a deep breath. "Please don't keep things like that from me again," she said.

"I won't," he said. "But the point is, we were approved, and we have places on this ship, the _Amphitrite,_ three weeks from now. It leaves from Amsterdam and docks in London, where I was born. I have contacts there. And we have enough money—more than enough—to pay for the traveling to Amsterdam and the passage. We should have enough, actually, for a month's rent..."

She looked up. The thing she had known was coming had now arrived—and she actually felt excited about it. After failing to find out anything about her birth family, she had come to regard this area with sadness. She wanted to start a new life with him.

"Then I'm ready to go," she said firmly, looking into his eyes.

He smiled back at her. He felt a little uneasy about this still, since he _was _keeping something from her—the fact that he was passing them off as married and relying on that claim to bring her back with him—but he did not want to bring any anxiety to her right now.

That night, however, he brought the subject up in a roundabout way.

"Rapunzel," he said in a serious voice as they got ready for bed, "we do need to talk about something else."

She pulled down the covers and looked up at him. "Oh?"

He climbed onto the bed. "Mmhmm. It's about..." He trailed off. "Rapunzel, you know I love you," he said.

She smiled as she got into bed beside him. "I know. And I love you too. I'm so glad you climbed into the tower that day. I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I'm glad I did too," he said softly. "And I just... want to make sure you understand that. I don't want you to have any doubt that I love you."

A frown flitted over her face. "Eugene, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he said. "It's just this. If you and I are going to live together in a city, we have to marry."

She felt her heart thump hard. "Have to?" she repeated.

He felt uncomfortable. She hadn't responded with enthusiasm. Uneasily he continued, "There are several reasons. I don't want you to be ridiculed and judged by society, and if we're living together in a public place and are unmarried, you will be. I couldn't stand to let that happen." He took a deep breath. "Also, you'll be protected that way, under the law. You aren't alone in the world, of course... you have me... but the law won't treat you as being alone either. And... you'll have a full name." He paused to take another deep breath. "That's why I wanted you to know how much I love you. We do need to do this, but... _need _isn't the only reason."

She looked down, away from him. Thoughts were swirling through her head. That was not much of a proposal, she thought... he wasn't really asking her; he was telling her. And yet, she knew she could still say no.

But she didn't want to do that. He would be sad and disappointed, and their relationship would cool. She had no doubt of that. And at some point, he would probably leave. Why should he not, if she told him, essentially, that she didn't want to share her life with him? If she rejected what he could offer her? She couldn't stand that thought.

She did want this... so why was she still feeling a bit reluctant? _It's because he didn't ask,_ she thought. _It's because he knows this is the only good choice I have. It's because _I _know this is the only good choice I have. And it's because..._ She was not quite able to finish her own thoughts, but shadows of what she had left off still passed through her mind, memories of Mother Gothel telling her in disturbingly graphic detail about what married couples did—that horrible, painful, degrading thing, she said, that made babies. She was not entirely sure now that Mother Gothel had been honest about much of _anything, _but some aspects of the world had turned out not nearly as bright and shiny as she had thought on the first day she stepped out of the tower. That—_act—_might not be brutal, but that did not mean it would be enjoyable. She did not want to have to dread any type of interaction with him.

_He loves me,_ she thought. _He loves me and I love him. Not everything we experience together will be pleasant, but I will not let that change what I feel for him._ Reassured by this thought, she looked at him again. "I understand," she said, "and I will." She smiled at him and leaned against him.

He looked down and met her eyes with his own. "I love you so much," he said again, sounding relieved.

She reached up to kiss him. Eagerly he took the lead, wrapping his arms tightly around her and pulling her close. They continued for several minutes. When they finally parted, she snuggled against him as she had done every night, but tonight their closeness had a new meaning for her.

Meanwhile, as he felt her dropping off to sleep, he smiled at the thought of her happiness, and to a large extent he shared it, but for him there was something else still lurking behind. He had not wanted to tell her about it and spoil this moment for her, but he did not know _how _he would be able to bring a marriage about with no records of her existence in any church anywhere. A minister would not want to risk contracting, for example, a bigamous marriage, and without records, no one could know for a fact that Rapunzel was single. She could make up a surname at Amsterdam for the ship's passenger list, which would then become official for her in England, but he had already claimed that she was his wife. That was how he had gotten approval to bring her back. She might not have been approved as a single person unrelated to any Englishman.

Eugene tried to push these thoughts out of his mind. He would work something out, he decided. He couldn't let her down now.


	6. A New Stage

**Author's Note**: I tried to keep this chapter under 8,000 words. Mission not accomplished. Sorry. This isn't going to be every chapter. I just don't like rushing through scenes. So, um, a nice long chapter here. Also, note that the rating is now changed.

Also, a note. I am not the sort of author to beg for reviews (or childishly threaten readers with not updating if I don't receive as many as I want)... but I do appreciate them when they come in. I mostly stopped mentioning reviewers by name in A/Ns about a year ago because the fic I was writing at that time received too many for me to do that, but they are still appreciated. Sometimes, too, a review doesn't say anything that I can respond to in a personal manner, at least without giving away details of the story (and several of you are picking up on things that, yes, are ultimately going to lead to a conflict—but not just yet). That's it—it's not that I'm ungrateful.

* * *

**Chapter Six: A New Stage**

* * *

Eugene carried the last parcel out of the tower and set it down on the ground so he could take a break. He wiped the sweat off his brow. Moving even a room's worth of things was laborious work in the heat of summer, and they had already moved out more than Eugene had really wanted to take with them. Furthermore, he and Rapunzel had slept on the floor the night before, having sold her bed in town yesterday. The bedcovers did not cushion them from the hard stone, and his back was suffering from it.

They had a crate filled with Rapunzel's clothes and small personal items, but also the green chair, her pottery wheel, and all the cookware. That was fine, though; those were things that Eugene had intended to have. He had _not _intended to leave with her wardrobe and dresser... but there they were.

Rapunzel had been petting Maximus. She headed over to where Eugene was resting and gave him a hug. He smiled and squeezed her back.

"Are you all right?" he asked her gently.

She gazed up at the tower. "I think so. It's hard to believe, though. I mean, I've always lived there..." She paused. "But it's all right. It was time to move on. And we're together."

He smiled weakly. He still had not mustered up the courage to tell her that the officials at their destination would expect them to already be married, and he was not sure what to do if they refused to let her board. –Well, no, he was sure of _one _thing: If she couldn't board, he wouldn't either. They would go somewhere else. They _would _be together, he thought. She was right about that.

After he put the last parcel in the cart, he put an arm around her waist. "Ready to go?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Where's Pascal?"

That brought a smile to her face. "On the seat."

As they walked back to the cart, Eugene noticed the outline of the little chameleon, turned dusty brown, the color of the seat. He and Rapunzel climbed into the cart, and the lizard scampered out of the way, seemingly aware that they would want to sit very close. Rapunzel snuggled into Eugene's side as he took the reins, leaving an empty space on the wooden seat, a space that Pascal promptly occupied.

Rapunzel could not help but give one last wistful glance back to the tower as the cart set off, but this time, at last, she felt as if she were letting go.

* * *

For several days, they traveled west, stopping only for food and rest. At night they stayed in inns that were cheap enough to satisfy Rapunzel and respectable enough to assure Eugene of their safety. He trusted Maximus to have the intelligence and strength to protect their possessions when he was stabled, but even so, he always brought the heavy box of money inside whenever they stopped for the night. Perhaps it was just habit from years of thieving, but he liked to have his money with him. They soon got used to sleeping on creaky old beds with shabby covers, as they found that snuggling together made a lot of things easier to bear.

After one unfortunate incident early in their journey in which they had gone into an inn where the proprietor knew him as Flynn—and made a lewd comment about Rapunzel and her relationship with him—he resolved to visit only those establishments that he had never been to before. He didn't tell her, but the innkeeper's comment had stung especially hard because he secretly feared that it would end up becoming true.

Since she did not know the additional reason why it bothered him, Rapunzel was less upset by that one incident than he was. She was not pleased that the one innkeeper had assumed she was his mistress, but she was mostly too interested in the trip to let it bother her too much. She was seeing so many things that she never had seen before, and with every step, every clatter of Max's hooves on the road, she knew that they were drawing closer to what would be their eventual home.

At last, the night before the ship was supposed to leave, their cart rattled into Amsterdam. Eugene was a nervous wreck. Tomorrow he would find out whether he could have her with him on the ship. And if not... well, he wasn't entirely sure what he would do next. They still had money—he would not have to pay until they actually boarded—but they _would _have to make a new plan. And worse still was that he would have to explain himself to Rapunzel.

After they scarfed down a quick dinner and settled in their room for the night, he noticed that Rapunzel seemed to be nervous about something too.

"What's the matter?" he asked her as he sprawled on the bed.

She turned to him. "I didn't understand what you said to that innkeeper," she replied, her facial muscles tense.

"Oh," he said, "well, I was speaking in Dutch. I guess your mother only taught you German and English?" He recalled that she had not seemed to have trouble understanding what he said at their previous stops, even though he was speaking German.

She nodded.

"I have to say, I'm curious about that," he said. "If she didn't want you to leave the tower, why teach you more than one language?"

Rapunzel scowled to herself. "She said she wanted me to learn how even people's languages proved that they couldn't get along... that there were millions of different languages in the world and it was because people created their own languages when they didn't like each other, and used them as weapons. Like to say something that someone else didn't understand." She looked down at the mattress, biting her lower lip.

Eugene rolled his eyes. "Your mother was a piece of work. There aren't 'millions' of languages, and that's not why they develop anyway."

"I didn't think it was true," Rapunzel said reassuringly. "I've realized since I met you and left the tower that she lied about practically everything. I was just worried about one thing in particular. Are we—I mean, will I understand what they say when we get there? I assume I will, but..."

He smiled, pushing out of his mind the thought that it might not be _when_ they got there, but _if._ They would know about that tomorrow, at least, one way or the other. "It'll be somewhat different, but yes, you will be able to understand it perfectly well. It's really kind of odd that Corona is English-speaking in the first place, but I guess a few of those isolated little islands do speak some variant of it, for whatever reason."

She looked relieved. "I didn't know you could speak that many languages," she remarked.

"Just those three."

They remained silent for a while, until at last they both seemed to realize that it was time to go to bed.

* * *

Early the next morning they quickly scarfed down breakfast in the common room and headed to the stables at once. Rapunzel was excited, but Eugene was very nervous. Very soon they would either be on their way, or... He gave a sigh as they climbed into the cart.

The inn was on the wrong side of town for what they needed to do, about as far away from the docks as it could be, but it was cheap and that was why they had stayed there. Still, it took them some time to get through the bustling city. Rapunzel was startled; she had seen a lot of places now, but this was still the biggest, most populous city she had yet visited.

He turned to her with a smile as she admired everything. When—_if—_she got to see London, she would be even more impressed. He felt no particular attachment to the city, having dreamed of escaping it as a boy. However, he would be going back under different circumstances. When he left at sixteen, he swore he would have a life of adventure and thrills on the Continent and would never return to the grime and orphaned misery that he was leaving behind. That dream hadn't turned out exactly as he thought it would, and he learned that being a wanted thief in small villages was actually worse than being a street urchin in a city. At least he hadn't had to fear the law as a young boy. But he was going back (he hoped), and being an "orphan" did not mean the same thing now that he was a grown man with a fiancée. He wouldn't be alone this time.

They reached the harbor. Rapunzel's breath caught in her chest as she scanned over the vessels, with their sails waving gently in the breeze. It was a pleasant, if humid, summer day, and the sun baked the docks. As they stepped out of the cart, Rapunzel felt grateful that she had decided to wear shoes. Her feet would be cooked otherwise.

Eugene turned to Maximus uneasily. "Well, Max," he said in a quiet voice so that passersby would not overhear him, "you need to make a decision now. I said in my letter that we had a horse, so you can come on the ship with us if you want to. But if you do, you can't go back. This is your last chance to return."

The horse looked evenly at him.

"I don't know if they realized it was you that I escaped on, or if they thought you drowned in the dam burst, but either way, you could go back if you wanted to. You know that."

Maximus lowered his eyelids and peered at Eugene with skepticism.

"You don't want to? You want to stay with us?"

Maximus managed a grin.

Rapunzel beamed. She reached for Eugene's satchel, which he was wearing now, but he realized what she wanted to do and beat her to it. Grinning at her, he opened the leather bag and withdrew an apple, which he handed to Maximus.

"We're all together," Rapunzel exulted. "You and me and Pascal and Maximus, just like we have been since my birthday." She smiled broadly.

"Right," he said. The smile faded from his face. Here was the moment of reckoning. He took Maximus's reins and slowly began to walk toward the piers.

It did not take long to identify their ship. An English flag fluttered from atop it and its namesake, the Greek goddess Amphitrite, was mounted to the bow. Several passengers were boarding the ship and an official had set up on the pier to take names. Eugene took a deep breath and headed in that direction.

As they moved closer, a pair of workers approached to prepare to take their cart and horse away for separate loading. The official looked boredly at them. "Names?" he grunted.

"Eugene and Rapunzel Fitzherbert," he replied. She glanced up sharply at him, her eyes wide with surprise. He could not look at her.

The official scanned his list. "Right. Here you are. I have here that you are native-born, so _you_ are cleared. Now could I see your marriage papers, please."

Eugene winced hard and shut his eyes. _Here we go,_ he thought unhappily. "Uh," he stalled.

Rapunzel glaced up at him. "Um, Eugene?" she said in a small voice.

The official's boredom vanished at once. He peered at the pair. "What, you don't have any?" He glanced at her left hand. "She ain't wearing a ring," he added pointedly.

"Sir, we intend to be. Once we land."

The official chuckled darkly. "That ain't what _my _list says. Why aren't you now? You had plenty of time." He peered at them again as if trying to read their minds. "Is one of you married to someone else?"

"Of course not," he said sternly. "Listen, _sir,_ the _only _reason that we aren't yet is because she was abandoned at birth, raised by someone who never registered her anywhere and kept her away from other people for years, and as a result, she does not possess a legal proof of identity."

The official's face softened a little, because he could tell from the tone that Eugene was telling the truth. However, he immediately forced himself to harden once more. "Well, that's a bad thing, to be sure, but unfortunately, that is not my problem. Now _you _may board if you want, or you can stay with her—"

Desperately Eugene stuck a hand into his satchel and withdrew a small drawstring bag. He opened it and poured its contents over the official's book. The man's eyes popped as silver coins clinked over the pages.

"Would _that _change your mind?" he said through clenched teeth.

The official glanced around quickly before scooping up the money and pocketing it. "I reckon it would," he said in a low voice. "Welcome aboard the _Amphitrite,_ Mr. and Mrs. Fitzherbert."

* * *

Rapunzel did not say a word to him until they were safely settled in their cabin. Once the ship had set sail, she at last turned to him, questions bursting to be asked—but he beat her to it.

"Rapunzel, about that incident on the docks," he began.

"Did you have to write that we were already married?" she asked.

He nodded. "I don't know if I would have been allowed to bring you back otherwise."

"Did you expect that to happen?"

He looked down. "I was afraid that it might," he admitted. "I didn't want you to worry; that's all. I wouldn't have left you there, no matter what."

"I know," she said. She paused for a moment before speaking again. "So what does this mean? That man called me by your name. What's going to happen now?"

"It means that's your name now," he said. "It means that on the books, we're married."

"But we're _not,"_ she said quietly. She bit her lip, trying not to cry all of a sudden. This was so disappointing. She had been looking forward to having a ceremony, even if it was just the two of them and a minister. It would have been a fixed date to remember, a concrete event to demarcate the two periods in her life. Watching Eugene bribe a port official was not the same as taking solemn vows. She felt cheated. It wasn't his fault, she knew; it was ultimately Mother's fault again, but that did not make it any easier to bear. Pascal, who had been hiding under the hood of her cloak, crawled out and sat on her lap, turning blue for her mood.

Eugene looked sympathetically at her. "Hey, it's going to be all right," he said gently, putting an arm around her. She leaned into him silently. "I'll see what I can do when we land."

* * *

The ship had a smooth journey, with only a minor rainstorm causing any disruption. It was a short distance, and as far as Rapunzel was concerned, it was a trip that was interesting without being too frightening or claustrophobic. She spent a lot of time on deck and also frequently checked on Maximus where he and the other horses were quartered.

At night she snuggled into Eugene, trying to make herself think of him as her husband—but she couldn't. She knew that, on a certain level, she was being irrational. People did not marry in order to have a wedding; they married in order to _be married,_ and when the ship landed, the law of Eugene's home country would recognize them as such and grant them the privileges of that status. She would legally exist now; she would have an acknowledged place in the world. She would even have a complete name at last—she did already, she realized.

And yet, something still bothered her. Even if the government recorded them as married, she didn't feel that way herself without their actually making the vows to each other.

She didn't tell him this. There was nothing he could do about it on the ship, and he had said that he would try to do something once they were on land. Perhaps, she thought, _that _was part of why she couldn't yet regard him as her husband; she was holding on to the hope that he would think of something.

Soon the day came when the ship sailed into the Thames and passed down the river toward the city. Rapunzel watched eagerly as they sailed past other towns, docks, and boats. Finally the crew began to strike the sails as the ship drew close to its destination. It was mid-afternoon, and clouds were gathering over the city. As they prepared to disembark, Eugene turned to Rapunzel.

"I know someone who works in an inn here," he said. "At least, I hope he still does. We can stay there until we get an actual place to live."

She turned to him in surprise. "How many people have you been writing?" she asked.

He laughed. "Just the officials. The person I'm referring to is someone I knew from the orphanage. He got hired as a day-shift bartender in this inn when I left the city." He paused. "I actually don't know if he's still there, of course, but either way, it's a nice enough inn."

"I thought you knew people here," she said reproachfully. "People who would help you get started with your shop."

"I do," he reassured her. He placed a hand around her waist gently. "Don't worry. We're going to be fine."

His tone was calm and confident, and even though her trust in his full disclosure had been slightly shaken by the port incident back in Amsterdam, she could tell that he was not keeping anything from her now. He seemed genuinely relaxed and appeared to become more so by the second. She felt a smile come over her face in spite of everything. It _would _be fine, she decided. They were both resourceful.

Before long they were off the ship, registered on the list of entrants, and reunited with their possessions—and their horse. Maximus was eager to walk again and quickly set off at a brisk pace as Eugene steered him down busy streets. Rapunzel could hardly believe that a city could be this big—or crowded, or bustling, she thought. Everywhere it seemed that street vendors were hawking goods of some sort, and unlike the marketplace on the island of Corona, many people had horse-drawn carts and carriages. Pascal seemed frightened of the bustle, scampering under the fold of Eugene's satchel and hiding in the bag.

"I hope you can get used to this," he said in a loud voice over the din.

She smiled at him. "I can't wait to explore it," she called back to him.

He grinned, but not for long, as his attention was diverted by something ahead. "Oh, here we are," he said. He steered the cart toward a brick-and-half-timbered structure with a sign dangling beside the door. _The Third Sheet,_ it read.

Rapunzel turned to Eugene quizzically. A smirk was already spreading across his face. "'Three sheets to the wind' means _drunk,"_ he said with a chuckle.

She looked scandalized. "What kind of place is this?"

He raised an eyebrow and smirked even more broadly. "It's a dockside tavern, my dear."

She felt exasperated, but she supposed that he would not take her into a dangerous place. Anyway, it was another new place to see, and if he _did _have an old friend here, that would perhaps be useful. Besides, she found it increasingly harder to become _too_ annoyed with him over anything—especially when he called her his dear.

They were quickly ushered into the inn, their horse stabled and their cart stowed safely. He walked up to the bar, keeping a firm grip on her waist, and as the staff behind the counter became clearer, his eyes grew wide.

"George?" he said. "George Vale?"

A clean-cut man with a round belly—an unfortunately obvious sign of too much beer drinking—and scruffy mouse-brown hair turned around from where he was talking with another man in a dirty apron. His eyes popped. "Fitz?" the man squawked. "What are you doing here?" He approached the counter.

Eugene looked indignant, but Rapunzel could tell that he was also trying hard not to smile. "Is that how you greet an old friend?" he asked. "I'm moving back. Now how about a round of ale for each of us"—he pulled Rapunzel closer—"and a room for the night."

The man—Vale—smirked knowingly. "Sure. You heard him, Belton," he said to the man in the apron to whom he had been talking.

"Yes, sir," said the other man, who immediately grabbed two tankards and began to fill them with foaming ale.

"Are you in charge of this place now?" Eugene asked, surprised.

Vale nodded. He sat down behind the bar and faced Eugene with a genuine smile on his face. "Left to me two years ago. Maybe owning this place was a simple wish, but it's all I've wanted, and I got it. I don't suppose you managed to make your fortune as a pirate or adventurer or whatever it was you meant to do?" The question could have been asked snidely, but there was instead a sad, sympathetic undertone to Vale's words, as if he knew the answer already.

Eugene gave him a wry smile as the bartender, Belton, deposited their ales in front of them. He took a sip of it. "I almost did, actually... but something happened. I met this lady and... circumstances intervened. George, meet Rapunzel, my... fiancée."

Rapunzel, who had been taking delicate sips of her ale—she was still not fond of the beverage even after having had it several times on the road—looked at him with surprise, but also gratitude. The fact that he had used that term told her that he understood. He understood what she had been feeling, and he would try to think of something meaningful for them.

Vale chuckled. "So you gave up your fortune for love. That doesn't surprise me. You were always a romantic type, what with all those stories you liked." He extended a hand to Rapunzel for a handshake. "Glad to meet you, Miss."

"It wasn't exactly that I gave up a fortune for love," he said. "It was..." He trailed off, realizing that Vale's assessment was actually completely correct. His plan to use that crown to get the Stabbingtons off his back had backfired terribly, but it _had _been exactly what Vale said it was. "Actually, never mind. You're right."

Vale grinned. "I know you." He stood up and turned away as if to walk toward the back of the bar.

"Blackguard," Eugene muttered, but a smile was on his face.

Vale stopped in his tracks and turned around. "I heard that. Maybe you'll want to take it back in a minute, though."

He opened a door in the back of the bar and passed into what seemed to be a storage room, shutting the door behind him. From under the crack of the door, they saw lantern light shine. Then, a minute later, he emerged with a large, fat, yellowed envelope. He crossed back toward the counter and dropped the envelope in front of Eugene.

"What's this?" Eugene asked. The envelope had his name scrawled on it in black ink.

"It's what you never took with you when you left the orphanage," Vale said. "I snatched it out of the old matron's storage room after you were gone. I didn't expect you to ever return, but I just thought it was better it stay with me, as your old friend, rather than anyone else. Now that you're here, though, you must have it. I've no idea what it is."

Eugene broke the old wax seal and peered inside the envelope. At once he gasped. He reached into the envelope and drew out, in turn, a pair of empty wire glasses frames, a cream-colored handkerchief, and a pair of thin gold rings. He set the objects down on the envelope, staring wordlessly at them.

"Eugene?" Rapunzel asked gently, touching his arm. She looked at the artifacts. "These things... were they... your parents' things?"

"They must have been," he said in a husky voice. He unfolded the handkerchief. It was embroidered with a monogram. "These were my mother's initials. The glasses must have been my father's. And these..." He picked up the rings, gazing at the smaller one and then at Rapunzel's thin fingers.

She realized what he was thinking and felt a blush spread over her cheeks.

George Vale, in the meantime, looked distinctly awkward at being present at such an emotional reveal. "Right," he said, clearing his throat. "You said you wanted a room. Room Five, on the upper floor, is empty."

"George," Eugene said. "Thank you."

The chubby innkeeper gave another small smile back at the couple as he returned to work.

* * *

Over the course of the evening, Eugene made inquiries of Vale and the other staff about what would be good, cheap, safe places to rent where they would have two rooms and stabling for a horse. Vale recommended a building a few blocks west of the tavern, owned by a widow who had a mortgage to pay on her profligate late husband's property and earned money by renting flats in the building.

"I know Mrs. Perkins has at least two or three places available, and she's had them all outfitted with a stove, so you can cook for yourselves if you like," Vale said. Eugene thanked him again and made plans, with Rapunzel, to see the place the next day.

That night, as they were taking off their shoes and getting ready for bed, Rapunzel could not help but notice as Eugene placed the envelope carefully inside his satchel—but not before he held out the smaller ring to her and asked her to try it on. "I don't want to put that on your hand until—well, just yet," he said. "But we need to know if it fits."

"It has to," she said. "Your friend saved it for a reason, so it must fit me."

He smiled weakly. "I wish life worked that way. But try it on, so we can see."

She slipped the small gold ring on her finger. It did fit—perfectly so. "Told you," she exulted, holding her hand out to him and beaming.

He grinned. "Well, that's that, then."

She slipped the ring off and handed it back to him. "Eugene," she said.

"Hmm?" he asked as he put the ring into the envelope, closed it, and closed the satchel.

"What are you thinking that we should do? I mean, regarding—_us?"_

He set down the satchel, looked at her, and took her hands in his. "Rapunzel, on the books, we _are _married. I know it doesn't feel real to you," he added as she opened her mouth to object. "I know. And here's what I thought. Tomorrow we can find a book that has the marriage vows in it, and when we get our little flat, we can say them to _each other_... and put these rings on... and..." He trailed off hesitantly.

There was an awkward moment. "And what?" she asked.

"And... then would you consider it 'real'?" he asked. "I would."

She gazed at him evenly, sure that this was _not _what he had meant to say, but unable to guess what it was. However, he _had_ asked her a question. "Yes," she said. "That would be real."

He scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her. "I'm glad," he said, nuzzling his face against her neck. "Because I love you and I don't want you to be unhappy." He kissed her under the chin, making her yelp in surprise. "I wish it could have been done the normal way... but I don't want you to feel that this isn't real, or is inferior, or to blame yourself." He snuffed the candle, pulled the covers back, and scooted under them, still holding her tightly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He continued to kiss and stroke her gently.

Rapunzel had mixed feelings. It was very enjoyable, and she found herself returning his caresses quickly, but there was something else too—something more anxiety-inducing. He had never been this physically affectionate with her when they were in bed, and at some point she had realized why. It was because _that act,_ that one that she dreaded, usually took place in a bed, and perhaps physical affection often led up to it. Did he want to do that tonight? Was that why he was doing this? She felt herself becoming anxious at the very prospect.

He drew his lips away from hers at last and wrapped an arm tightly around her to cuddle her close. She felt relieved—but then something else occurred to her. If they "got married" tomorrow, he would probably _expect _them to do that thing. She realized, with a thump of her heart, that _that _was probably the thing he had left unsaid about what they would do in their private ceremony.

_He won't do something to deliberately hurt me,_ she told herself. _He won't. It can't be as bad as she said. Nothing has been._ As she drifted off to sleep, however, she still could not push aside _all _her worries.

* * *

The next day, they set off toward the house that Vale had recommended, making only a quick detour into a library to look for the book that Eugene had mentioned. They found a text with prayers and liturgies, and he quickly wrote down the vows on a sheet of paper to take back with them.

Their next stop was the house itself. The landlady, Mrs. Perkins, was a stately older woman with silver hair and wrinkles stretching across her thin face. Her property consisted of a large, if simply decorated, house, where she said that ten other people lived.

They had no difficulty being approved as tenants and paid two weeks' rent at once. Rapunzel was relieved to have a home again, though she really hated to see so much money disappear from their savings. Eugene assured her that more would come, that he had a plan, and he would go to a couple he knew tomorrow and get premises—cheap premises, he promised—for his shop. He had budgeted, and they would be fine, he assured her. She hoped he was right.

The rooms where Rapunzel and Eugene would live consisted of a larger common area, with a hearth and a stove, and a much smaller room that they would use as a bedroom. The spaces were already furnished, albeit sparsely and with cheap furniture, but Mrs. Perkins's manservant assisted them in unloading their cart of their belongings and setting up the wardrobe and dresser in the tiny bedroom.

"Your covers are pink," Eugene remarked as they pulled the sheets and bedcovers over the bed.

Rapunzel laughed. "You're just now noticing that? It hasn't been a problem yet."

He smirked. "It's not a problem. We'll probably be glad to have them in a few years."

She gave him a confused look. What did he mean by that? She was glad to have them _now._ However, he merely smiled enigmatically as they continued to unpack their possessions.

At last, the little flat was fully furnished. They stood by to admire it. The scratched table that had been in the living area was now covered in a cheery tablecloth from the tower. Rapunzel's various knickknacks, craft projects, and all the books that they had acquired since her birthday filled a bookcase. Eugene's mother's handkerchief and his father's glasses frames rested on their envelope on a shelf in that same bookcase. The familiar green chair sat next to a well-worn sofa—a sofa, she noticed, on which Pascal was already resting lazily. Her cookware, cutlery, and china filled the shelves of the corner set aside as a kitchen. The pottery wheel sat on the floor in another corner. Almost everything they brought had been Rapunzel's, but she now regarded it as _theirs._

This was theirs, she thought again. It was their home. It even looked like a home now. The same realization seemed to occur to him, as he wrapped an arm tightly around her and brought her close in an embrace. He leaned his head on hers as his hands caressed her back. "Do you want to—?" he murmured as a hand trailed up her spine.

She swallowed hard. "Yes," she said.

He could tell, very easily, that she was nervous. He reached for the rings and the piece of paper on which he had copied the vows, giving her a gentle look as he took the items in hand. "Well," he said, examining the rite, "I think we should say these questions as statements—they are normally asked and replied with 'I will,' but since it's just the two of us—"

"Pascal is a witness," she pointed out with a smirk.

"Pascal can't sign," he said, smirking back. "But sure. Let Pascal witness."

"But of course," she said, coming over to his side and looking at the paper. "We can say the vows, but we can also write that 'I will' on the page, sign at the bottom, and write the date, so we'll have this as a record." She met his eyes with her own and smiled.

"Yes," he agreed warmly. He took her hands in his, brought them to his lips, and with that, they began their little private ceremony.

Love, comfort, honor, keep thee only unto him... these were things she had already promised to herself, she realized as she repeated the words. Anything else was unthinkable. She had promised these things, without consciously knowing it, the moment he opened his eyes again after she had revived him. Everything since then had been leading up to this.

She felt him take her hand in his and watched as he slipped the small gold ring on her finger—his mother's ring, now hers. When her turn came, she was afraid for a moment that his hand would be too large and awkward for her delicate ones, or that she would drop the ring, or something else silly, but nothing went wrong as she slid his father's ring on his finger. He smiled—and then, half a second later, grabbed her in his arms. She lunged at him on tiptoe. They met in the middle, holding each other tight, kissing desperately. They continued for at least a minute unbroken, not stopping even when the sound of Pascal's deeply embarrassed _cheep_ and the scurrying of lizard feet filled the air.

He lifted her off her feet and swept her up in his arms, carrying her into the tiny little room that they would use as a bedroom. Her heart suddenly thumped. It was earlier than they had ordinarily gone to bed. He must intend to—

"Eugene," she said urgently.

He set her down gently on the mattress. His brown eyes were suddenly wild and hungry. "Yes?" he growled, lunging at her and pushing her back on the pillows.

She squirmed beneath him. Her heart was flying, and confused feelings were flooding her mind. He was being rather aggressive, but as she had known all along, he wasn't hurting her. She rather liked this, in fact. Still, they were both fully clothed. This was not much different from their past affectionate behavior, and it told her nothing about what the _rest _of this would be like. She was still afraid that the deed itself would be something uncomfortable, awkward, and generally unpleasant.

He seemed to understand that something was wrong, and he backed off. "Rapunzel?" he asked uneasily. "Are you all right? You—you do understand what this is, don't you?"

She breathed deeply and nodded. "I do. I'm just nervous." She drew herself into a ball. "She told me about this and said it was an awful thing. The way she described it was awful too." His eyes grew wide, but she continued. "I know she lied about practically everything, and I know you wouldn't hurt me"—she saw him wince at this and felt a sense of dread, but she pressed on—"but I don't know what to think, because I'm still afraid that it will be embarrassing and awkward."

He regarded her carefully, some of the fire dimming in his eyes as compassion filled his face. At last he spoke. "We don't have to do it if you don't want to," he said gently.

She looked helplessly at him. "But we should. You want to, I can tell, and I don't want to deny you if we're going to be husband and wife."

He propped himself up on his side. "I don't want our first time to be about obligation," he said. "I want you to desire it. And if you don't, if you're afraid..."

She gazed deeply into his eyes. "I feel like I shouldn't be afraid, though. You won't hurt me."

He sighed and looked down. "Sweetheart... it probably _will_ hurt—at first. But it won't last," he added quickly, "and it won't hurt at all in the future. In fact," he said with a grin, "you'll end up really liking it. I just... don't know if that will happen the _first _time. So if you're not ready, we can wait until you are."

She looked at him. "How much does it hurt?"

"I guess it varies, but I can be gentle. But you still _don't have to_ if you don't want to. I mean that."

She bit her lip and gazed at him. He was being so considerate, and it was giving her a funny—but not unpleasant—feeling inside, a feeling that made her want to be very close to him. She liked it, and she wanted to give in to it. They had been under a lot of stress lately, she realized, and it had been hard to set aside time for themselves with everything else that they had to do and to worry about. Most of what they had done, too, had been his idea, because he was the one who knew about such things as traveling and renting. She had been feeling like the very thing she hoped she wouldn't: a burden, useless dead weight, a person he would have to support, with whom he was now stuck. They _needed_ to feel close, she realized, and if her desire for closeness was meant to lead up to this act, then it had to be all right.

"I want to," she said abruptly. "Even if it does hurt—for a bit. If it won't be like that again, and you say I'll _like _it—"

"You _definitely _will like it after the first time... and I will try my best to make sure you like it that time as well," he said. He paused for a moment. "There's something else. You do know that this can cause pregnancy." He gazed at her very seriously.

"I know. She told me about that too. And..." She breathed a long, shuddering deep breath to collect herself. "I expected that at some point in the future, we would probably want..." She trailed off. "If it does, it does," she finally said.

"Are you really sure, then? About everything?"

"I'm sure," she said with more confidence. She smiled at him. "I want this, and I want you. I trust you."

Perhaps the conversation had just become too sugary sweet for him, and he had to interject some snark into it, but he broke into a smirk at that. "I told you the day we met that that was a horrible decision." He reached over and pulled her close. "But I was wrong to undervalue myself so."

She laughed as he pulled her into a kiss again. The dose of levity was exactly what she needed. Maybe, she thought... maybe this could even be _fun._ That would be perfect. The smile remained on her face as she let him unlace her dress. He made short work of her bodice, and she raised an eyebrow at him in surprise as he freed her of the confining garment and lifted it over her head. Her dress now billowed loosely around her figure, sleeves barely staying on her shoulders. He had never seen her like this, she realized—every time over the past two months that she had changed into her nightgown, he had turned away to give her privacy.

She was uneasy about handling the clasps on his doublet. The piece was buckled, fastened, and belted, and her nervous, thin fingers had difficulty undoing anything. He regarded her efforts with a tolerant smile until finally taking her hands in his, moving them gently aside, and taking the doublet off himself. He cast the tough garment to the floor and quickly whipped off his shirt.

Just as he had never seen her half-dressed, she had never seen him with his shirt off. They had bathed privately as well. She found herself staring in fascination at him. He was in good shape, she thought. She found herself pressing her palms against him and stroking the muscles where they rippled.

He let out a groan at her touch, and at once his hands found her dress again. He began tugging on it, sliding it off her, exposing her shoulders and arms and then her chest. She drew her arms through the sleeves and at once grabbed the loose fabric to cover her chest, feeling heat rush to her cheeks.

He stopped and regarded her with a quirked eyebrow. "Don't be ashamed," he said, gently prying her arms away and letting the fabric pool at her waist. "You're beautiful." He leaned down and planted a kiss on each breast in turn.

She was startled that, moments after being so embarrassed just to let him _see _her, she was enjoying the feeling of him _touching _her. However, it did feel good, and there was something about this—about allowing him to be this intimate with her—that made her cry out in bliss and wrap her arms around his neck to keep him exactly where he was.

A chuckle soon came from him, and he lifted his head, grinning at her. "You have to let me go if we're going to continue," he teased. She smiled back and reluctantly removed her arms from around him.

Her dress came off first. It was already loose and bunched around her waistline, and it was easy for him to gather it in his hands, slip a couple of fingers into the waistband of her drawers—a gesture that both startled her and made her shiver with this strange new sort of pleasure—and remove all of it at once, leaving her completely exposed before him.

He could not keep his eyes off her. She tried not to blush, to squirm timidly before his gaze, or to hide herself, and she found that with every passing moment it became easier. He was looking at her with admiration and desire. He thought she was beautiful. He was looking over her whole body and making no complaint with it. For a person who had known little her whole life except criticism, that was wonderful—and empowering. She managed a smile as she finally looked back at him and met his eyes.

That seemed to jerk him back to reality. He swallowed hard as he returned to the task at hand and started to undo his pants. Rapunzel watched, fascinated, as they came off—but the fascination quickly turned to sheer terror as she gaped guilelessly at him.

He looked up after casting his pants on the floor and noticed the look on her face at once. He wanted to smirk at the implicit compliment, but he knew this was not the time for that. "Listen," he said, leaning forward and putting his hands on her waist. "I _promise _you I'm not going to be rough."

"But that won't even _fit!"_ she exclaimed. Unintentionally she brought her fingers to her lips and started to nibble nervously on her nails.

The smirk he had been trying to keep off his face appeared anyway. "Oh yes it will." He stroked a hand up her side. "It might hurt a bit at first, but I _swear,_ Rapunzel, that won't last. Then it'll feel good. Please. You said you wanted this."

She forced her hand away from her mouth and took a deep, shaky breath. "I should get it over with," she said, trying to inject resolve into her voice. "All right. Go ahead."

He leaned his forehead against hers and gently pushed her down on the bed. "It'll be easier if you relax," he said, "as much as you can, anyway."

She nodded and breathed heavily, trying to do as he advised. She jerked, startled, as she felt something slip between her legs, but realized it was his hand. She didn't know why he was feeling her there, but... she liked it.

He planted a kiss on her lips as he brought his hand away and placed both hands on her hips. She felt something again, and this time she knew what it was. She sucked in her breath hard, wincing, as he pushed forward. It did hurt. She wanted to let out a sob, but she concentrated on his face and on trying not to tense up. It was difficult; she wanted to clench her muscles, but that only made it worse. At least he wasn't moving. He was waiting for her to get used to the feeling.

Finally, though, some of the discomfort dissolved away. She still felt stretched, but the worst part was over, and come to think of it, the only discomfort she felt at all was around the surface. Deeper inside, there was a different feeling entirely, and she wanted to feel more of it.

She met his eyes with hers and nodded. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, barely long enough for her to even notice, before resolve and confidence filled his face again—and then he began to move.

He was slow and gentle, as he had promised, being careful not to reposition himself or change his angle. They would have plenty of opportunities for such things in the future. For now, he concentrated on making this as enjoyable as it could be for her—and as he continued, she found that it was becoming _very _enjoyable. She didn't even notice that he was gradually picking up the pace and intensity, because she was adjusting quickly.

At last they reached their peaks. She was not capable of much rational thought by that time, but to the extent that she _was, _she realized right before letting go that he was completely right about how good this could feel and she would have nothing to fear in the future. Finally, after they had physically separated (but nonetheless remained curled up together), she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek wordlessly.

He smiled. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"I feel wonderful," she said. It was true. Though she had a feeling she might be a bit sore in the morning, right now she felt relaxed, satisfied, happy, and very, very close to him. There was something so intimate about curling up like this in the nude. What had they to hide anymore, anyway? They had committed to share everything with each other.

And for the first time, she finally felt that _that _was real too. Not just a dull legal record, falsified in its creation, but a real, experiential part of their lives.

He embraced her and snuggled her close to him. She cuddled up, enjoying their shared warmth and closeness. Comforted by each other's presence and the mutual understanding that they had taken the leap together, they soon drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**End Note**: The OC, George Vale, is going to be a real character, not just a MacGuffin. There are a few other OCs that I have not yet introduced... and the pub thugs are likely to show up again at some point.

And also, yes, that's all the "wedding" they're going to have in this AU. I basically just wanted to write this as a common-law marriage, because of the grittier setting, but I'm pretty sure that by the early 18th century, that was no longer a "thing" in most European countries. This is the best I could do instead.

Finally, at this point I'm reconsidering my original idea of writing this fic as temporally disconnected one-shots. The opening chapters are of course serial, and it might be strange to switch the format like that. However, this piece doesn't have a true plot; it's just about this AU of their lives, and so ideas for nice scenes come to me from all over their timeline. Any thoughts? Would it be confusing or weird if I stuck to the original plan, or is that all right?


	7. Flynn Returns

**Author's Note**: Well, I had no feedback for the question I asked in the end note, so I will take that to mean that it doesn't matter. I'm still deciding, but I'm likely to continue with my original idea of writing the domestic scenes as they come to me, which means some of them would be out of order relative to others. I'll always explain when a scene is supposed to happen, though. These scenes will begin after this chapter.

As always, thanks to those who have been reading this fic, and reviews are much appreciated. This is the last transitional or prologue-type chapter, and to be honest I'm not 100 percent satisfied with it (it seems boring to me in some ways), but it needed to be written to fully establish our couple in their new setting, and I didn't want to delay posting it any longer.

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Flynn Returns**

* * *

They woke up the next morning still wrapped up nude against each other. Rapunzel was awake first. She fingered the gold ring on her left hand and glanced at the pillow, where his ring-bearing left hand now rested close to his face. As she gazed at him while he slept, the memory of the previous night filled her mind, and she blushed—but at the same time, a smile formed on her face at the thought. She was feeling a little sore at the moment, but she supposed that would pass. The nice thing was that it hadn't been bad at all. In fact, it had been really good after a bit, just as he had said it would.

She recalled another thing he had told her and wondered for a moment if she had become pregnant. She hoped not, whatever she had told him the night before. She really wanted to get used to this new way of life, new city, and new category of relationship with him before having to worry about being responsible for a baby. She wanted to have a family with him at some point, of course, but she didn't feel prepared for the idea just yet. Quickly she did some mental arithmetic. She _shouldn't _have conceived last night, in any case.

He began to stir, stretching his arms and yawning. She liked how the muscles in his arms flexed as he stretched them. She had always liked the fact that he rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, but she had never seen him with his shirt off until last night and had not had the opportunity to gaze at his biceps. When he blinked himself awake and focused on her, she realized that she had been staring.

A smirk formed on his face. "Good morning," he said. "Admiring the view, I see?"

She blushed hotly once again but saw no point in denying it. "I really like the way you look," she said.

His grin broadened. "Understandable," he said, leaning over and pecking her on the forehead. He threw aside the bedcovers and climbed out. "Feel free to gaze as much as you like, my dear." He strode naked across the small room to her dresser, where a basin of water sat.

She didn't mind the teasing, and as she followed him out of bed, she kept her eyes on him. She was not going to be ashamed of looking. They were married, both in the eyes of the state and in their own; that made him hers, and he knew she wanted to look anyway. Why not take pride in it?

They got dressed, ate breakfast together (Pascal, Rapunzel observed, finally showed his face when they went into the room adjoining their small bedroom), and then walked arm-in-arm out of their flat, across the hallway, and down the stairs. Rapunzel could not help but notice that any signs of personal habitation were absent from these common spaces. There was little furniture in the public halls, and what was there was shabby from use. Did their landlady not even live in this place anymore? She could not remember, and she turned to Eugene with the question.

"I think she has a smaller house across town," he said. "From what I understand, her husband left her this property, but his debts exceeded the rest of his wealth, and the large house had lost value—even selling it at market value would not have paid off the mortgage. You can tell it wasn't kept up very well; I think it was used as long-term lodging for sailors while he was alive, and, well, they're not always the best tenants for taking care of property... Anyway, she had to continue leasing rooms to earn money, but no, I don't think she lives there."

"So who keeps an eye on it? That servant who helped us in with our things?"

"Yes, he's the caretaker, I assume."

They walked to the back of the building where the carriage house and stable were attached. Maximus whinnied when they saw him.

Eugene fished an apple out of his satchel and gave it to the horse. "You may get to walk some later today," he said, stroking Max's mane. "Depends on whether I can get a room for a shop."

Rapunzel turned to him. "Right—where _were _you thinking of looking?"

He took her arm again and walked with her out of the stable. "There's a couple that I used to know... We should go to the tavern first and I'll ask George about them." He paused, collecting his memories. "The orphanage sent us out at age fourteen if we had not been adopted or hired yet. Washed its hands of us. I was a little street scamp, begging for bread and taking on whatever odd jobs I could find. Stealing food. Thank God I never got caught or I wouldn't have been able to come back here either. The Wests were very kind to me, hiring me for weeks at a time to work on their ship. I still dreamed of making my own fortune, so I saved up my wages and bought passage to the Continent after two years."

"This West was a merchant, then?"

He nodded. "He had property near the docks. A building. Upper levels were always unoccupied. I just hope he still owns it..." He frowned contemplatively.

Rapunzel was worried. "What if he doesn't? What are we going to do for income?"

"Then I'll ask George for a job at the tavern until something else turns up," Eugene said grimly. "Either way, we need to visit it first."

* * *

When Rapunzel and Eugene walked into the Third Sheet, George Vale the innkeeper was in the middle of a blazing row with a patron. The customer, a sallow-faced dark-haired man sporting an unshaven neck beard, was surprisingly well-dressed for his otherwise disreputable appearance, wearing a beige shirt and breeches underneath a long, heavy brown wool coat. He looked quite the aristocrat compared to the pot-bellied apron-clad innkeeper with whom he was arguing, but to Rapunzel and Eugene, there was something petty and low-down in his face that made Vale the more imposing—and sympathetic—of the two by far.

"You listen to me and listen well, Morse," Vale snarled, slamming a wet rag down on the bar and spraying dirty water through the air. "Your business problems are _your business_ and _your problem._ You are not going to bring it into my inn and threaten my patrons into vouching for you."

"I didn't threaten _anyone,"_ hissed Morse.

"You know damn well what you did is blackmail. I mean it, Morse—I tolerated you selling your booze in _my own barroom_ for the past year, because it was stuff I couldn't get anyway, but I am not going to tolerate you blackmailing my customers. Whatever you did to get sacked is _your _problem and _you _are going to have to deal with it. Now get the hell out of here."

Morse gave Vale a final glare as he turned away. He passed by Eugene and Rapunzel, still wearing the sly, mean look that they had noticed from the first, but when he saw Rapunzel, his gaze traveled down her form and a vulgar leer formed on his face.

"Watch where you look," Eugene threatened darkly. He did not like this man and definitely did not like the way he was looking at her.

"No worries, chap," Morse sneered as he left the inn.

Vale was wiping sweat off his brow by the time the pair reached the counter. He set his rag down and gave them an apologetic look.

"Sorry about that," he said.

"Who was that?" Eugene asked. "And what was his problem?"

Vale growled in annoyance about the encounter. "His name's Rick Morse, and for the past year I allowed him to sell bootleg Irish whiskey in this very inn, provided neither he nor the folks he sold it to drank it in here, but his supplier fired him, and he was threatening customers into putting in a good word for him in the hopes of getting back in the business. I draw a line at that."

"Perfectly understandable," Eugene said. His eyes were gleaming. "Do you happen to know who the supplier was?"

"Irish bloke named McKearney."

"And this Morse fellow thought he could get hired again... I assume that means that McKearney hasn't replaced him yet."

Vale gave him a hard look. "What are you thinking?"

"You know exactly what I'm thinking. And if there's any reason you know of why I shouldn't do it, anything unsavory about this McKearney character for example, you should tell me. As a friend." He smiled assiduously at the fat innkeeper as he enunciated that last word.

Vale stared at him for a moment before responding. "Never met the fellow myself, but from what I know of him, McKearney—his Christian name is Thomas—is a genteel sort. Has a wife and son... and a nice country house. His whiskey is top quality too. Oh yes, I bought a bottle from time to time," he added. "It's fine stuff, it is."

"So you think he would be a respectable person to do business with?" Eugene persisted. "I mean, as respectable as liquor smuggling can be, of course."

"I never heard nothing bad about him," Vale repeated, "and the fact that he fired Morse speaks well of him too. He mainly just doesn't want to deal with the politics of importing it to England all lawful and proper, I reckon. The Irish can be really funny about us English, you know."

Rapunzel had been listening to this conversation with growing alarm at the direction it was taking. She turned to Eugene at this point, looking concerned and indignant. "Eugene, I know we need money, but I don't want you to risk getting put in jail! It's not worth _that."_

"I wouldn't go to jail," he reassured her. "It would be a fine to pay, nothing more. Selling liquor without a license. I'd even pay taxes on the sales if that would help deter suspicion. It would just be a fine, Rapunzel... and only if I got caught," he added with a grin.

She sucked in her breath hard, clearly not entirely assuaged, but did not respond with any further concern.

He continued talking to Vale. "So, old _friend,_ do you happen to know how to get in contact with this McKearney?"

Vale stared at him for a moment, at first seemingly determined not to reveal whatever he knew, but quickly his resolve melted away. "I hope you know I wouldn't do this for anyone else," he muttered as he reached under the bar for a scrap of paper.

Eugene accepted the address and placed it in his satchel with a look of satisfaction. "Thank you for that. We actually came here today to ask you something else, of course."

"And what might that be?" the innkeeper asked.

"I was wondering if the Wests still owned that building by the docks."

Vale thought for a moment before responding. "I think so," he said. "West is getting older and I don't think he trades anymore, but I know they still live in the same house, and I am pretty sure they still own that building too. The street-level floor is rented to a tailor shop, though." He peered at Eugene. "Were you thinking about setting up a shop on one of the upper floors?"

"I was," Eugene affirmed. "We brought some old things, antiques, interesting things like that, and were going to sell them to get started. With the sideline, of course," he added, smirking again. "I _do _have a wife to support now." He squeezed Rapunzel around the waist.

"Wife? You married her yesterday, then?"

They both nodded.

"Well, congratulations to both of you," Vale said. He smirked. "And I suppose I should expect to congratulate you two on something else soon enough."

Rapunzel blushed hotly at the implication, and Eugene looked alarmed at the prospect. "In all seriousness, I hope not—not this soon. Someday, though," he said, looking at Rapunzel with a tender smile.

Vale shook his head. "I was right to call you a romantic. When you do have one, your wife, here—_she _will be the one to put her foot down, I can tell that already." He winked at Rapunzel. "But _you_ will be whipped by that child harder than a sail in a hurricane."

"I will not," he protested.

Vale chuckled. "Want to make a bet on that?"

"If I had an income, then yes, I would," he declared, standing up and taking Rapunzel's arm in his. "But it's foolish to make a wager I can't yet afford. I also have her to consider," he added. "If I were only responsible for myself, that would be one thing—but if that were so, then we wouldn't be discussing this as an eventuality in the first place."

Vale smirked. "You go ahead and tell yourself whatever you need to. You always have. I don't doubt you've become more responsible; we both have, but I also remember what you were like around all those little ones in the orphanage. You never could resist reading to them out of that book... and they weren't even related to you. A child who is related to you and your lady?" he said with a respectful nod to Rapunzel. "Mark it down. Whipped harder than a sail in a storm."

* * *

Before long, Rapunzel and Eugene found themselves having tea in the sitting room of Jacob and Mary West near the docks. The Wests were an older couple, respectable and dignified. Their children were all grown and moved out. The father's business, though sufficient for supporting a family, had not made enough money for him to give much to any of his children when they came of age. He and his wife were now living in a quiet way on the income they took in from renting the lowest floor of the little dockside building to a tailor shop.

They were glad to see Eugene again and very glad to meet Rapunzel. When he expressed his interest in the second floor of the building, they quickly and eagerly struck a bargain with him over the price. Rapunzel was surprised; he had, with very little effort, talked them down to a monthly rent that was less than half of what they would pay for their flat over the course of a month.

"No one has been there for years," Mrs. West said, noticing Rapunzel's clear surprise. "The location itself... well. There is a _certain _sort of customer that tends to frequent the docks, and it makes the location undesirable for many businesses. We have had offers through the years from people wishing to establish bawdy houses on the upper floors, but of course, we always refused."

Eugene suddenly looked distinctly awkward. Rapunzel guessed at once that it was because of the illicit whiskey he wanted to sell. It turned out that she was not wrong.

"There is this... sideline... that I thought about bringing in," he confessed. "My shop would be primarily a sort of general store with an emphasis on unusual items. A curiosity and antique shop. Also, my wife can make things—pottery and candles, for instance—and we thought about selling some of these things in the shop too. But suppose another possible opportunity presented itself... like, for instance, an opportunity to do with fine spirits..." He trailed off and gazed somewhat sheepishly at the Wests.

"As long as it's a respectable shop and it doesn't become a haven for violent criminals to meet and plot, it's of no concern to me if you have spirits for sale that are too fine for the King's men to take their cut," Jacob West said bluntly. He exchanged a grin and a wink with his wife. "As a matter of fact, I know of a merchant who, back in the day, was in for a bit of smuggling himself on his ships. There was a time when Bordeaux wine was right hard to come by..."

Eugene smirked. "I see."

"Mind you, I'm not admitting to anything."

"Of course not."

"But my point is, as a man who... has quite a bit of experience with privateers... I think there's a proper line to walk and if you walk it, they won't come after you. Like that wine merchant I mentioned—I think, if I may say so, that the authorities knew what he did, but as he didn't flaunt it in their faces, they let him be. It's about being respectful in how it's done, I think."

"Ah," Eugene said, still grinning. "That makes sense."

"I admit nothing, of course," he said pointedly.

"Nor do I," Eugene said immediately. "It was merely a _theoretical_ discussion."

"Of course. And"—the older man smiled a real smile as he prepared to transact the lease—"we're delighted to have you back, and even more delighted to meet you, my dear"—he said with a nod to Rapunzel. "I wish you both well, and if there is anything else we could do to help you get started, we would be honored."

* * *

Once Eugene and Rapunzel got a key from Mr. West, they headed back to their flat and prepared to load up the cart with Gothel's old stuff and the few homemade items that Rapunzel had not managed to sell back in Corona. Rapunzel was smirking to herself silently; she had been ever since they left the Wests'.

At last he noticed. "What is so funny?" he asked.

"I think it's _funny,_ in an ironic way, that all the people you know here know you as Eugene, but the way you are actually going to support us—well, other than by selling the normal merchandise of the shop—is to do something _Flynn-_like. And yet no one here seems to know about 'Flynn.'"

He smiled weakly. "It's more that no one here who _did _know about 'Flynn' remembers. I stopped playing Flynnagan Rider when I was twelve. George is the only person who could be reminded, and even he never knew that I continued to imagine myself that way afterward. And _no one _in this country knows that I passed myself off that way on the European continent."

Rapunzel wrinkled her brow. "It seems a shame, really, to let it disappear altogether. I mean, 'Flynn' and 'Eugene' are both part of you, and I like them both." She smiled and blushed lightly.

He laughed and placed an arm on her lower back. "Are you saying that you want to call me that again?" he teased.

"Maybe," she said with a flirty smile. "Maybe in private, at certain moments."

"_Certain_ moments, eh?" He winked salaciously at her.

"Oh, hush," she said, pulling away and reddening. "I didn't mean _that._ I just meant something like a pet name."

He grabbed her again before she could move too far away from him and pulled her close once more. "You can call me anything you want," he murmured, nuzzling the top of her head.

She laughed lightly as he squeezed her. It was so nice to be held by him. She peered over his shoulder at the pile of items they were going to take to the shop... and then something caught her eye.

The smile fled her face. She grew stiff in his arms. Then Rapunzel broke away from the embrace and slowly, methodically, walked over to the pile.

"What is this?" she asked in a suddenly detached voice. She sounded suddenly fragile.

"What do you mean? It's just your mother's old stuff," he said, confused about why she had suddenly moved away from him.

She didn't act as if she had heard him. "Why do you have _this?"_ she said shrilly as she drew one item out of the pile, near the top. It gleamed in the sunlight that filtered through the windows, and he watched in dismay as he realized what it was. He opened his mouth but could say nothing in response.

"Eugene!" she shouted, withdrawing Gothel's old dagger in full. "How could you even _think_ of selling this?"

"Rapunzel, it was just a mistake! I didn't notice—"

Holding the artifact as if it were poisonous, she scampered over to the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboard for something. He wondered what it was that she was looking for, but when she emerged with her frying pan in hand, he suddenly realized what she intended to do.

Trembling, she set the dagger down on the hearth. "I don't want to think of this even being out there anymore... of _anyone _using it... I mean if you need a weapon, you could get a new one somewhere, right? One that hasn't been used..."

"I'm sorry, Rapunzel," he said, and he meant it. He honestly had not thought about the dagger since the day that they moved out the last item of furniture from Gothel's room to be sold and gathered her remaining possessions into one pile. The memory of being stabbed was not something he preferred to think about, and besides, he had more pressing concerns at the time.

Rapunzel took a deep breath. "It's all right," she said in a small voice. "But it has to go." She lifted up her heavy iron pan behind her head.

_CLANG!_ The pan struck the brick with the full force that Rapunzel could put into the blow. The dagger fragmented, the shards of its blade sparkling.

And so did the frying pan.

Eugene watched, a grimace forming on his face as Rapunzel's eyes grew wide with shock. The pan had broken into three pieces, leaving her holding the handle with only a small fragment of the pan still attached. She dropped it on the floor and started wringing her hands. A cry of pain escaped her mouth.

Instantly he was beside her, his large hands holding and caressing her smaller ones that had undoubtedly been hurt from the jarring. "I'm sorry, sweetie," he murmured. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and breathed deeply as he caressed her wrists. "It's fine," she said. "I hit you with that. Three times. It injured you too, like the dagger. I... I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I've never told you that. I hurt you, and I never—"

He covered her mouth with his hand, cutting off her words, and hugged her closely. "Rapunzel, it's _fine._ You didn't know me, and I broke into your house. I know you wouldn't do it now. I'm glad you don't mind about the pan, but getting rid of the _things _associated with memories won't get rid of the memories themselves. We're both going to have to deal with them."

She nodded and sniffled. "You're right."

He released her and picked up the parcel, now dagger-free, to put into the cart.

* * *

The room above the tailor shop was musty, dusty, and dim, but they could tell that it would make a very suitable shop once it was cleaned up. There were shelves lining the four walls and a counter set up in a corner for customers to make their purchases. The windows had been well-maintained, with no broken panes of glass or obvious leaky spots, and once they were cleaned, the room would be brighter.

With the place as dirty as it currently was, and no cleaning tools immediately available for them to use, Rapunzel and Eugene decided that it was best to just leave the parcel of items hidden behind the counter and lock the place when they left. It would be hard for someone to break into the place anyway; customers would have to enter the tailor shop on the lower level and walk up a staircase in the corner, and that shop would be closed as well at the end of the day.

They were just finishing moving the parcel behind the counter when he stepped over a spot and a loud dissonant creak disrupted the otherwise unobtrusive muffled blur of outside noise. At once he was on the floor examining the spot he had just walked on.

"Aha," he said, pulling up a loose board.

They both peered into the hole in the floor. It was surprisingly large, easily long enough for a full-grown person to lie down inside and about a foot deep. Beneath it was a solid-looking panel of heavy wood. Apparently the building had wide gaps between the ceiling of the first floor and the floor of the second.

It was obvious what Eugene—or, Rapunzel thought wryly, _Flynn—_was thinking as he peered down, though. He was mentally measuring the hole as a space to store the illicit, but very fine, Irish whiskey that he wanted to sell. The entire spot was behind the counter, and the board that had creaked would cover up the whole cache with no one but the shop owner even in a position to walk over it. It was ideal, really.

"Yes," he muttered in a low voice, as if talking to himself, "I will definitely write to that man. I'll get George to put in a good word for me if need be. Maybe," he said in his normal voice, looking up and facing Rapunzel with a grin on his face, "maybe I'll even give him a perpetual discount on the stuff if he does. He did say he liked it."

She clicked her tongue in feigned disapproval as she shook her head, but she could not hide the amused smile that spread across her face.

He smirked back at her, clearly amused as well at the fact that she couldn't deceive him. "But even if that doesn't work out, we'll have this place," he said confidently. "I'll get my name out, so people will know the shop is here, and we'll soon get business from people wanting me to take their old things off them to resell... and of course, you brought your pottery wheel and your candle-making... stuff... so those kinds of items could be here all the time. And you could even sell paintings here," he said, excitement creeping into his voice. He stood up and hugged her again. "We're going to be fine. Everything is going to be just fine."

* * *

**End Note**: In the past, orphanages often did send kids out at fourteen if no one had taken them away. Kids were considered adults for many purposes at that age.

Also, Rapunzel's not pregnant... yet. In two stories I've written, I've done that to them fairly early in their relationship, but they had plenty of money (or _would _by the story's end). That is not the case here, so I think it would be very stressful for it to happen this soon. Besides, I want them just to be a couple for a while.

Finally, regarding the sleazy smuggler who got sacked, he has not made his last appearance.


	8. Exploring New Territory

**Author's Note**: Thanks for the interest! I appreciate it, but I'd love more feedback. Is the piece dragging? Chapters too long? (I've thought that some of them might be, so they will hopefully be shorter from now on.) Not enough tension? ...If so, fear not, because there will be. There won't be an overarching "plot" to the piece as a whole, but there will be various threads that pop up... like in real life. :)

Speaking of which, this chapter is the first slice-of-life piece. I still haven't written anything out of temporal order, so this one immediately follows the previous chapters. The individual chapter rating here is M. The chapter title has a particular meaning that is directly related to that rating, because it is primarily about one specific aspect of their relationship. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Exploring New Territory**

* * *

They were both tired when they came back, but there was a certain amount of relief almost palpable in the air that night. The night before, they had just moved in and had their private exchange of vows, both novel experiences, and the impact of these things had not settled in yet. Furthermore, they had no arrangements for income last night. All that was different now. The little flat did not just look like a home; it was starting to feel like one. On the way back, they had even stopped at a butcher and grocer to buy some food—food that they would eat in their _home. _The existence of the shop reinforced the feeling too; when they left the shop, they were returning home. The perception mattered.

Rapunzel, in particular, was also far less nervous about her relationship with him. She wasn't _completely_ free of concerns on that score, of course. Other than the physicality, she still didn't have a very clear idea of what behavioral expectations were different between husband and wife as opposed to... well, to whatever they had been before. She was an observant person, though, and decided that she would figure it out herself. If nothing else, she would _ask _him from time to time if he was satisfied with their relationship. She knew he would not mind explaining anything that she needed explained. He understood her background, the only person in the world now who really did. He accepted her in spite of it—perhaps, she thought, in part _because _of it; she had picked up on indications before that he valued her idealism and innocence of spirit.

As for the physical part, she found herself rather looking forward to it this time. There really _wasn't _any anxiety in her mind about that. Mother Gothel had just lied about this as she had about most other things. Rapunzel supposed that like anything else in life (even mothering, she thought wryly), it _could _be bad if one party was determined to make it so, but in the absence of such cruelty—and especially, she thought, with tender romantic feelings involved—it need not be anything of the sort. The mild soreness of the morning had passed over the course of the day, and memories of how nice it had been—how close to him that she had felt—were filling her mind as the evening wore on.

The fact that his hair had become mussed and his skin had become a bit dirty over the course of the day certainly didn't hurt either. She was finding that his more roguish appearance elicited those kinds of feelings in her very quickly. In fact, she spent much of the evening sneaking glimpses of him. A flirty glimpse out the corner of one eye as she happily prepared their meal in the kitchen corner and he, across the room, sat in a chair pretending to read while he watched. A satisfied glimpse from across the table as he chewed a bit of her herb chicken and closed his eyes in gastronomical bliss. A desirous glimpse as they brought water in for their bath, the muscles in his forearms rippling from the weight of the buckets, bringing back memories of the morning when she had seen him shirtless.

And blatant staring as they bathed in the little metal washtub that was only _just _big enough for them both. Pascal—who had figured out last night that he did not want to be within sight or hearing of them when they were unclothed—had let out an embarrassed chirp, turned vivid red, and fled the little bedchamber into the main room. They had laughed at his frantic actions, since, after all, the tub _was _too small for any purpose other than bathing or clothes-washing.

That did not prevent Eugene—or Flynn, as she was increasingly starting to think of him when he was looking at her in a certain way—from taking advantage of the situation, though. It started when he told her that they should scrub each other's back.

She, thinking in terms of strict logic, decided that this was a good idea. "After all," she said, "we could do a better job on each other than by ourselves."

He smirked very broadly at this comment. "I agree," he said pointedly.

She did not catch the double entendre immediately. It took being turned around, her back to him, and feeling his hands trail up her sides in a way decidedly unlike lavation for her to realize what she had said and what ideas it had put in his mind.

She decided to play the "patient condescension" card. "Are you going to scrub me or just feel me?" she asked haughtily.

His hands found her shoulder blades and started to caress them. "Both, eventually," he purred.

"The water might get cold if you take too long."

"Then we can get out and curl up together for warmth," he said at once.

"Always an answer," she grumbled to herself.

He heard her anyway. "Quite right."

However, he picked up a washcloth and began to scrub her back gently with it. To her chagrin, even this sensation began to put other thoughts into her mind. She was sure that if she had not already been primed for it by his prior activity, she would not be thinking what she was, and her back muscles would not be rippling as they were...

He laughed. "You're all clean now... at least in body," he added slyly. He stopped scrubbing and dropped the washcloth into the water.

That was simply too much. Grabbing hold of it, she quickly whirled around and pushed him in front of her. She was going to take her revenge for this.

She touched the washcloth to his shoulders as if to scrub and then abruptly withdrew it, replacing the coarse fabric with her own soft hands. A chuckle pierced the air. She bit her lip and immediately curled her fingers, touching his skin lightly with the tips of her neatly filed fingernails. _That ought to do the trick,_ she thought—and a smug smile formed on her face as he shivered beneath her fingertips for a moment.

Then the shivering stopped and he laughed again. "Rapunzel," he said in an insufferably cocky tone, "there is no way for you to 'win' this situation—at least _by yourself._ If you become aroused and decide to have your little revenge by doing the same to me, but you deny me after all, then no one 'wins.'"

She could not see his face directly, but she could see enough to tell that he was smirking and winking as he said this.

"So, either we both lose—or we both win. Your choice, my dearest," he purred, "but those are the only options."

Rapunzel felt resistance and desire fight within her. She did want him. She had wanted him all day long. She was eager to find out what this was like after the first time, the only time he had warned her might hurt. She also _liked _it when he teased and flirted with her, and she liked this supremely confident, cocky side of him—the Flynn side, she decided. It was not anything similar to Mother Gothel's arrogance, which was cruel and always at _her _expense. In him, with respect to her, this attitude seemed to contain an unspoken invitation to stand with him and share it. For both to win, as it were.

Yes, she wanted him. And in a fraction of a second, she decided that she did not at all mind confirming to him what he already knew.

She leaned forward again, taking up the washcloth once more. With one hand she began to scrub him, genuinely attempting to dislodge the dust and sweat of the day, but with her other hand she started to caress his shoulders.

He groaned in pleasure. "I like that," he murmured. "I take it that you've decided what you want." There was a playful undertone to his words.

She leaned in and kissed the side of his neck. "It wasn't a hard choice."

"Thought not."

She laughed happily and continued to minister to him, her hand gently stroking his shoulder blades, his back, his sides. She caressed the small of his back, immediately provoking a shudder from him. This made her smile again, and she leaned forward to give him another kiss.

As she began to draw back, he shifted. "This tub suddenly seems too small," he said. He began to turn around to face her. "Or maybe we just need to move somewhere else?" His hands found her waist.

She dropped the washcloth in the tub. "I think we do," she said in a half-whisper.

Without a word, he lifted her up. They stepped out of the tub, his hands never leaving her waist and neither one's gaze breaking away from the other. Somehow they managed to grab a big towel and dry off with it, but by this time it was just a matter of convenience and comfort; they did not want the bed sheets soaked. He lifted her up again, picking her completely off the floor, and wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked the short distance to their bed.

She felt herself fall back against the mattress and watched as he climbed after her at once. He was very impatient by now, but then, so was she. She threw her legs wide apart as he settled on her.

"Eager, are we?" he remarked.

"Very," she agreed.

He leaned in to kiss her, taking her lips with his, parting her mouth open with his tongue. They stayed locked like that for a moment before breaking apart. He gazed at her again, his eyes seeming to glitter in the candlelight. "You should be," he hissed. "Last night had to be gentle and slow. But tonight I'm going to _ravish _you."

Her heart thumped with anticipation. _Definitely the Flynn side,_ she thought. For some reason, the idea excited her.

He moved his hand between her legs and touched her there, but unlike the night before, he slipped first one finger, then another, then another, inside her. She gasped in surprise, only to be met with a raised eyebrow and a wordless smile.

He began to move his fingers, to slide them back and forth, and as he did, she began to tremble beneath him. This only seemed to increase his own satisfaction. She suddenly jerked on the bed, her back arching backward at the delightful sensation he was creating in her. He chuckled and pushed her back against the mattress with his other hand, then withdrew his fingers from her. He shifted both hands to her waist and moved up, getting in position.

"_Now,"_ she gasped. "Please, Flynn."

His eyebrows knitted for a fraction of a second at her use of that name, but it passed, as he apparently understood why she had said it and how he had been acting. A smirk formed on his lips. "As you wish," he murmured. And with that, he braced himself against her and pushed in.

It was quite different from the night before. It remained a tight fit, and she still felt stretched, but there was no pain this time. She shivered in pleasure at the sensation. Without waiting, he began to move.

He was definitely going faster, and she was pretty sure that even his grip on her hips was harder tonight. Of course, she could not think _too _much about such details, but they crossed her mind fleetingly nonetheless. She would not have believed, last night, that she would be ready for something like _this _so soon, but clearly she was—and she liked it. There was a sweet friction beginning deep inside her, and his grip was not uncomfortable, just possessive. She liked that thought too.

Finally, she realized—vaguely—that he was gasping and digging his fingers into her sides, his movements becoming more forceful and less finessed. He grabbed her hips hard, thrust as far as he could, and, with a final gasp, released into her. The feeling and awareness of that sent her over the edge as well.

Somehow in the ensuing stage of heat, sweat, limbs, and skin against skin, he collapsed on her and ran his hands up and down her sides as they both breathed heavily. He planted a kiss on her lips, which she—despite her current state—immediately deepened, untangling her arms and holding his face in place.

They broke the kiss after what felt like several minutes. Their heart and breathing rates had calmed down by that time, and he gazed deeply at her once more before rolling off her to his own pillow. "You are amazing and I love you so, so much," he said, his tone almost awed.

She smiled back. "I love you too, and _you_ are amazing. _That _was amazing."

"It was," he agreed. He pecked her lightly on the forehead one last time before wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. They soon went to sleep.

* * *

As had been the case the day before, she was first to awaken the next morning. Perhaps it was another part of her "bequest" from the sun; perhaps it was a manifestation of her resolve to seize every moment of every day, but whatever the cause, she had always been a morning person. Morning in the city was different from what it had been like in the country. There was much less green, and the sky was not nearly as clear. She sat up in bed and gazed out the window. She hated to admit it, but she missed the clear, green, vibrant countryside.

She would get used to this, though, she supposed. At least there was plenty to explore and to do.

Her gaze left the window and traveled around the tiny bedroom. This put a smile on her face. It was small and a bit shabby, but it was home. There were things she had known all her life—like her wardrobe and bedcovers—to remind her of where she had been, and newer items—things that belonged to him, things they had acquired since meeting—to show what she was now and perhaps where she was going.

With this turn of her thoughts, she glanced over and smiled even more broadly at the warm lump beside her, still sound asleep, the covers pulled up almost to his ears. Little more than his hair (extremely unkempt after the night before) and half his face were visible. The rest of him was hidden under the sheets. It was adorable. Until she had proof to the contrary some weeks ago, when they first started to sleep in the same bed, she would not have taken him for the sort of person who would tuck himself this far under the covers, childlike, as if seeking safety there. She knew differently now. He _had _longed for safety and comfort, a place to belong, for years.

She continued to gaze tenderly at him, only vaguely aware of how much time passed, as she watched the rhythmic rising and falling of the sheets. When they first began to sleep together at her insistence, he had been a light sleeper, easily awakened. Now, he was peaceful in his sleep. _He deserves a peaceful sleep,_ she thought. _A restful sleep, free of fear that he might be awakened by capture... a warm, familiar bed to come back to... a home that is his... a person who loves him._ She was glad that she could give him one of those things—the most important, really—and be the catalyst for him to acquire the others.

Her musings were suddenly interrupted. Without warning, his eyes popped wide open and he bolted upright, breathing heavily. He stared at her.

"Rapunzel! How long have you been doing that?" he burst out, sounding somewhat distressed.

She felt bad. "A while," she said. "I didn't mean to bother you! I just liked watching you sleep." She frowned. "How did you know I was doing it?"

"I don't know," he said. "I could just feel it in my sleep." He looked apologetically at her. "I'm sorry. It's all right." He gazed up at her, smiling. "Look all you like. But I have to get ready. I'm going to organize the shop today." He threw the covers back and, stretching, got out of bed.

She remained under the covers as she watched him get dressed. It was quite a pleasant sight. As attractive as she found his physique, she also liked to look at him when he was wearing his rugged, efficient clothes. She liked everything about him, come to think of it.

He had finished buckling the next-to-last clasp on his doublet (he always left the top one open) when she suddenly realized that there was no breakfast food prepared. She leaped out of bed and scrambled for a dress in her wardrobe. He stopped and watched her, surprised and rather perplexed by her actions.

"Rapunzel, what are you—" he began to say as she pulled her arms through the sleeves, but when she darted past him toward the stove, wearing her dress loosely around her form with no corset, he realized what had occurred to her. Sighing, he followed her to the kitchen area.

"Rapunzel, you are _not _at my beck and call."

"It's my job to take care of you," she insisted.

He smiled wryly and shook his head in amusement. "I _am _able to get a piece of bread and an apple myself, you know. I have been on my own for over a decade." He stood behind her and took her wrists in his hands, preventing her from starting anything over the stove. "Don't. If you need to rest some more, then do it. I know I probably tired you out last night," he said, unable to resist. "And I really can feed myself."

She squirmed, trying to pull free of him, but not succeeding. "I wish you would let me do this," she finally said. Her voice was low and feeble. "You're taking care of me. You're providing for me. I can't just sit here like a useless, parasitic appendage and do _nothing."_

He released her wrists at once and whirled her around to face him. "That again?" he said in angry tones. She looked down, her face coloring and her eyes turning watery. He felt terrible. "No, I wasn't—I didn't mean to snap at you," he cried. "I'm not angry _at you._ I'm angry that she—I assume it was she—made you believe these things about yourself and develop the idea that a relationship is a quid pro quo transaction." He pulled her close and held her. "You are not a useless, parasitic appendage."

"I'm supposed to take care of you," she said again. "Before you woke up, I was thinking about everything we have now... Please. I _feel _useless if I don't _do _anything for you... if you do everything."

"I don't do everything, though," he said, surprised. He released her and looked carefully at her. "You already cook dinner, and we prepared our own breakfasts in your old tower all the time because it was so easy to do. I don't understand why it has to be different now."

"We weren't married then," she said.

"It doesn't matter!" he exclaimed. "Some things have changed between us... but breakfast is not one of them. You know what's the one thing I expect from you that I didn't expect before? Commitment. That's what we promised, to stay with each other and be faithful. Before, it was just what I hoped for. Now, it's an expectation. But that's all that is different. I don't even _expect _to do every night what we've done for the past two. As hard as it is to believe now," he said with a grin, "we're not going to feel like it every night. But everything else can go on just as it did before... except that I'll be leaving our home during the day now." He paused as something suddenly occurred to him. "It's that, isn't it?" he said heavily. "I'm going to be making money now. That's why you feel 'useless.'"

She stood there, staring at him, before finally blurting out, "Yes, it is."

He regarded her with sympathy. "I don't suppose I can expect you to immediately get rid of the 'quid pro quo' idea," he said heavily, "but I want you to try. And in the meantime, if you do feel that you should 'do something,' then you can come to the shop with me if you want... or if you don't, then I don't know, maybe make some candles or pottery that could be sold there. You brought the rest of your clay and wax. Or paint some pictures. But try to let go of this idea that the division of labor must always be exactly fifty-fifty, and _trust _me." He hugged her again. "That's not the reason we love each other. I could have that with anyone."

She hugged him back, trying to accept what he said. "I'll try, then," she said. "But it is a new idea. _She _always... well, you know, I'm sure."

"I do know," he said. He squeezed her and kissed the top of her head. "But I'm not her. And I don't think you would want me to be like her."

She managed a chuckle. "Not at all."

* * *

Rapunzel felt somewhat better after that discussion. She elected to stay at the flat and make things, as he had suggested. She would not own up to the reason for this, but it was because this seemed to have a more concrete monetary value than just going to the shop with him and helping him to arrange things or clean the place.

Pascal emerged from wherever he was hiding by the end of breakfast just in time to see Eugene off. Most likely, she thought, it was because she was packing him a lunch to take with him to the store if he needed to stay there all day, and Pascal wanted to beg for fruit too. However, she was glad to see him. He would be good company as she worked on her projects. The first thing she did was to empty the washtub of the dirty, lukewarm water that had been left in it overnight, but that did not take long. Over the course of the day, she made several candles, sculpted a pair of vases, and began a painting.

He came back by late afternoon, smiling. Coins were jangling in his satchel.

She looked up in surprise from her candle-making. "You sold something already? I wouldn't have thought anyone would even know about the shop yet!"

"I brought a few of your mother's items out to the docks," he explained, "and yes, immediately sold them. There was a privateer who considered your mother's jewelry to be _very _valuable. Twelfth century make, apparently. I was sure it was fifteenth century, but this fellow said it was far older. If he was wrong about that, it was his loss," he added with a smirk. "In any case, the sale made a good deal of money. I'll be able to get a lot of things now to fill the shop. The sheer lack of merchandise to start out with was my biggest concern."

She tried to smile. He was so resourceful... did he even need her little homemade things now? She reminded herself of what he had said in the morning. _It doesn't have to be fifty-fifty,_ she told herself firmly. _And I'm contributing something, anyway._

After dinner, she remembered something. "What about the contract with that Irishman?" she asked. "Is that not something you're interested in anymore? Because if it is," she explained, "it should probably be done sooner rather than later, before he finds someone else to replace that other man."

Eugene looked thoughtful. "You're right," he said, "and while I don't know if we _need _that income right now, we might in the future. We're sure to have another mouth to feed at some point in the future," he said with a sly grin.

"Do you think this man would consider an unsolicited request from someone he didn't know?" Rapunzel asked, ignoring his second remark. It made her stomach turn a little bit with nervousness to think about that.

"I couldn't say. I don't know if George has ever corresponded with him, or if the man even knows who George Vale is, but maybe we should go out to the inn again tonight and have a talk with him."

* * *

"I don't know for certain if McKearney knows who I am," Vale said later that evening when Flynn and Rapunzel had shown up. "That villain Morse claimed to have told him about me and sung praises of me, but who knows if he was telling the truth." He shrugged. "It can't hurt, though, and I'll be more than happy to send a letter to McKearney about the _unexceptionable, upstanding_ young man"—he and Flynn shared a smirk—"newlywed with a wife to support—rented premises for a store—yes, I'll say everything in your favor that I can, and let's hope Tom McKearney knows who the devil I am in the first place."

"Thank you very much," Flynn said smugly. As Vale turned away to attend to his employees, Flynn turned to Rapunzel, whose mug was now empty of ale. His eyes grew wide. "Wow! I didn't think you liked beer very much."

She winked at him, feeling a bit lightheaded, but mainly just _happy_. "I can learn to like all sorts of things," she replied.

He returned her smirk. "Fair enough. I know you certainly can." He motioned for Vale's bartender to refill both their mugs.

As she drank her second pint, Rapunzel chattered for a while about the things she had worked on during the day. "I hope you still need them," she said. "I know it doesn't need to be an exactly even split of everything, as you said, but I still want to help, and I _can _do these things."

"I'm sure anything you make will sell," he said. "You sold things back at Corona, after all. People like your style, and for good reason."

Something that had crossed her mind during the day came back. "I painted a landscape today to be sold," she said, "but I would like to paint a portrait of you. Not to sell, of course. It would be for the flat."

He smiled. "I wouldn't mind that," he said with a wink. "I'm sure you could do a far better job on my face than those dreadful artists back in... Well," he said, clearing his throat, not wanting to mention in public the fact that his face had been on wanted posters. "If you do this, I think it should be of both of us, though."

"All right," she agreed. She beamed at him and set down an empty mug once again. "But I had another idea, actually. I was reading these books we got in Corona about the academic discipline of art, and apparently something that is done by formal art students is to make a drawing, a sketch, maybe even a painting of the human form."

He suddenly became alarmed and glanced uneasily at the empty mug. She had only had two pints and she was already fairly tipsy.

"I want to draw you," she continued, oblivious to the fact that it was a public place. "Without your clothes on. And _just _you. I don't think I need to be in that picture... though actually, a _third _painting I might do is of the two of us—"

"Rapunzel," he said urgently.

"I know I couldn't ever sell it!" she exclaimed. "I wouldn't want to! That's not the point of it. But yes, I want to do three drawings or paintings. One of the two of us fully dressed, standing in a portrait style. That would go on the wall. An anatomical sketch of you. And a painting of both of us, undressed, on the bed, the sheets wrapped—"

"Rapunzel!" he exclaimed.

"What?"

"I think you should tell me about your ideas for _that _particular painting _later."_ He gave her a flirty, seductive wink, hoping she would take the hint. _It _would_ be a nice introduction to the "main event" when we get back home,_ he thought.

Rapunzel, unfortunately, not only took the hint, but let the hint take her active mind away from merely the artistic rendering and directly on to the subject from which he had sought to dissuade her. "Ah," she said knowingly. She winked back at him. "Will you want me to tell you about it or _model _for it? I can't wait to go home now. I want you to do like you did last night and be aggressive—"

Feeling his face flush, he clamped a hand over her mouth. _"Hush!"_ he hissed, glancing around the pub, hoping no one had heard her...

"Congratulations, Fitzherbert," drawled a familiar voice from behind the bar. George Vale turned around, a washrag and mug in his hands and a grin plastered across his face.

Flynn removed his hand from Rapunzel's mouth and stared back at his friend, tempted to scowl for a moment. Something changed his mind and he put on a smirk himself. "Well, what do you expect?" he said cockily. "You know it's happening." He wrapped an arm around Rapunzel's waist.

Even though she was intoxicated, she digested every word they said. She had been upset when he covered her mouth and told her to hush, afraid that she had said something that offended or embarrassed him, but now he was acting proud. Her intoxication, combined with her still-developing understanding of society, _did _prevent her from making sense out of his seeming reversal.

"Why did you tell me to hush, if he knows about it?" she asked him, putting her hands on her hips and arching an eyebrow at him.

"Because the details are private. He knows because it's assumed that couples do that when they marry, but it's still not something they talk about in detail with others. It's special."

She bit her lower lip, considering this. "That makes sense," she agreed. "It does feel special."

He smiled gently at her. It was incredible, in one way, that _he_ was telling her this... and yet at the same time, to be able to say this truthfully to another person was the fulfillment of something he had longed for. Contrary to the reputation he had once _wished _he had, he had never been a womanizing lothario, but he _had_ been an average twenty-something bachelor in _that _particular regard, occasionally seeking out comfort because he was lonely, and secretly wishing that it could be more. He just had not met anyone with whom he wanted to make it more—and over the past two years, he had been less and less inclined to even look for those comforts in the first place, because he was becoming sharply and acutely aware that _he_ was being used too. He had still wanted more, but he wouldn't admit it to himself because it seemed so unlikely it would ever happen—and if he couldn't have everything that human companionship _could _be, well, he decided that he would reject the lot of it rather than accept a painful counterfeit. That had been a turning point for when he became more interested in money and solitude—the island all to himself—than in human beings.

And now Rapunzel had been a turning point of another kind.

Yes, it was special.


	9. Socks, Bottles, and Trees

**Author's Note**: I am really sorry about the long wait for this chapter. I'm working on a doctorate in a STEM field, and school has started... and I've also been doing research for a journal publication over the summer. Nevertheless, I'll try not to make you wait almost a whole month again, in part because the chapters really are going to be shorter beginning with this one. Next chapter will _probably _be the return of the pub thugs. How? Ah, just wait.

The third item in the chapter title refers, by the way, to _family _trees.

Thanks for the reviews and new follows/favorites!

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Socks, Bottles, and Trees**

* * *

"You want me to wear _that?"_ Eugene said, holding up a long, filmy white garment in one hand and a box—containing a second such item—in the other.

Rapunzel pursed her lips and frowned. "Yes, I do—and furthermore, I _made it _for you," she added pointedly. "Are you going to turn your _perfect _nose up at something I worked so _hard_ on?" Her eyes grew wide.

He stared back at her in amazement. She was _good _at manipulating his feelings now. Always had been, in a way, but she had become quite the expert at pulling his strings since they had married. _Learned it from me, no doubt,_ he thought grudgingly. Never would he have guessed that someone could turn his own talents against him like this woman. Of course, he liked that she could hold her own with him, _really _liked it. Still...

He set down the box and held up the stocking. "It's fine needlework, Rapunzel," he admitted. "You sewed it really well. It's just—the fabric—I mean, it's kind of feminine, don't you think? This silky filmy stuff. It's something better suited for stockings that _you _would wear." He set the garment down in the box. "'Flynn Rider' doesn't need to wear socks. Never have before. But if I _were _going to do so, they'd be... manly, you know?"

She glared at him, hands on her hips. "That is the kind of fabric that stockings are _made from, _'Flynn,' and I know this, because I was at the tailor shop below your store and asked the seamstress there for advice about it. This is what they are made from—and that includes men's stockings." She lifted them out of the box and shoved them forcefully into his hands. "You _are _wearing them. Your feet and boots _stink _because your feet are right next to that leather, and it's just dreadful. I cleaned your boots last night and you are not going to get them smelling again. I can't believe you think you can have lunch with this McKearney without being properly dressed and foot odors wafting from your shoes. Now _put them on."_ She stared hard at him.

There was nothing for it, he realized. He would have to wear them. He picked up the stockings and gazed at them again. _At least they'll be under my boots._ No one would have to know that under his boots, he was wearing the same kind of effete hosiery that every feather-hat dandy in breeches and low-cut shoes displayed proudly—well, no one except Rapunzel. _And she wants me to do this for a rational purpose,_ he reasoned. _For hygiene. And she did clean my boots and sew these for me._ Sighing, he pulled on one stocking, then another, unwilling to look up and see the satisfied smirk that he knew was on her face.

* * *

It was a good thing that Rapunzel had insisted on the stockings, he thought later as he munched on his food. Thomas McKearney was very gentlemanlike, with open, friendly, polite manners and good taste in clothing. _He _was not going about looking like an overdressed fop, Eugene thought in satisfaction, and his choice of eatery—a nice pub, rather less rowdy than the Third Sheet—spoke well of him too. He didn't seem to be especially well-to-do, but he was a retired navy man and had accrued enough wealth during his time as an officer that he could now live comfortably in the Irish countryside—and operate a private distillery on his estate's grounds.

A couple of weeks after they were first sent, McKearney had replied to the inquiries made by Eugene and Vale, indicating that he was interested in the business prospect and would like to meet Eugene personally. A speedy response was sent to his address, and now, not quite a month and a half after settling in London, Eugene's shop looked likely to acquire another source of revenue.

Business had been going as well as could be expected. He had bought a large quantity of cheap used merchandise—including furniture and knickknacks—with the proceeds from Gothel's jewelry, and he now did a steady trade in used goods. He was also willing to operate as a pawnbroker. He had acquired a customer base from the sailors and local residents looking for a bargain; even the locals knew that this kind of shop would always have an influx of "new" items that they had not seen before, so they came by regularly. Meanwhile, Rapunzel had gone out to the shop to tidy it up and—with the permission of the Wests, the building's owners—paint the walls with whimsical curves and floral designs. She also contributed candles and pottery of various sizes, colors, and shapes... and on occasion, she went to the store to take drawing or painting commissions.

Between the two of them, they were able to draw income sufficient to their needs and put a little aside too. They didn't _need_ the whiskey sideline... but, as Eugene pointed out, at some point there would be more mouths to feed, and in any case, it never hurt to have extra money.

And it looked as if they would get it. McKearney was very well pleased with the young couple who were so obviously attached to each other.

"Reminds me of my own youth," he remarked sentimentally, "though I didn't marry until I became a captain, four years into the service. It was a fool mistake to wait for more money. I should have tied the knot as soon as my wife—well, at that time, wife-to-be—and I knew we wanted to, as the pair of you have done."

"Well, so many young men wait because they don't want to marry the woman they love and then find themselves unable to support her... and watch her suffer and be miserable," Eugene said. "And it worked out in the end, after all."

McKearney nodded. "I suppose you're right, but since I _did _get all the promotions I was after, it's easy to look back and forget what it was once like. And I know, too, that if her folks had tried to prevent it, then we would've run off to Gretna Green or some place, and the devil with fiscal wisdom and whatnot. Funny, isn't it, how we take things for granted most times. 'Tis easy to be at leisure when one is not desperate."

Eugene glanced at Rapunzel, seeking nonverbal permission to divulge more of their history. She understood and gave him an encouraging smile.

He cleared his throat. "There was a certain amount of—desperation, I suppose you could say—in our... marriage. Not for that reason, but because money was becoming a problem before we moved here, and it was an intractable one. I"—he hesitated before making this confession—"I was not entirely on the right side of the law, and we both knew that we had to get away. So we had to be married in order for her to be let into this country. It was sooner than it would have been if we had been more—at leisure, as you say."

McKearney knitted his brows together. "If I may ask—"

"Petty theft," Eugene said bluntly (if a bit dishonestly—but he suspected that telling McKearney about the crown would end the discussion). "I was stealing to eat. I didn't like it, but..." He trailed off. "I vowed to set things right when I met her, even if it meant returning to my homeland, which I had been determined to leave as a boy. And so you see us now. I understand if this makes you reconsider, though."

McKearney regarded the pair contemplatively before speaking. "To the contrary, I appreciate that you told me this up front. That blackguard Morse—_he _presented himself all well-dressed and punctilious, but then what _he _got up to—well, I would not speak of some of his deeds in front of your missus. Besides," McKearney said wryly in a low voice, "we're flouting the king's revenue men, aren't we? No duties and no license fee. It would be wrong of me to be a hypocrite about my employees, but I think in a venture such as this, it _is _important that we be honest with each _other."_

"I agree," he said at once.

"Which reminds me," the older man said conversationally, "what makes an English-born fellow like you all right with this sort of thing?"

Eugene chuckled. The true answer was "because we could use the money," but he decided that this would not endear him to the man. He considered the underlying implication of McKearney's question, that an English-born man presumably would not want to aid and abet an Irishman in his under-the-table business dealings.

"Well, my father was English, but my mother was actually Irish herself," he remarked. "They had... difficulties... from prejudice... and so you might say I have divided loyalty."

"You don't say!" McKearney exclaimed. "Your mother? Why yes, I do think I see a little Irish in your face, now that you mention it..."

Eugene caught Rapunzel's eye and smirked. Even Rapunzel, optimistic and innocent-spirited Rapunzel, was looking amused at this remark. _He probably does "see" it only after I mention that,_ Eugene thought to himself. No matter, though; what he had said _was_ true. "She was a Callaghan," he added.

"A fine name," McKearney affirmed. "Well, sonny, I reckon that settles it. I'm delighted to do business with you."

Eugene turned to Rapunzel with a satisfied smile. She met his gaze with a look of surprise in her face. She had known very little about his family, except that they were from this general part of the world. Granted, _he _knew little about _her _birth family, but he knew as much as _she _did, in any case.

Thinking about her birth family gave her a pang. She wished she could know something about them. It still bothered her, even though she had a new life and a new name, and even though she knew that information about them certainly would not be found _here._ It was a nagging boggart in the back of her mind—something she didn't think much about, but that never went away entirely.

She resolved to ask him about his own family. Her late in-laws were the only family she could know anything about, and he ought to share it with her.

Soon they finished their meal and took their leave of McKearney. As they headed back to the shop to finish out the day's work, neither of them noticed the lanky, hostile-faced character lurking at the bar of the pub who had been observing the entire conversation between his former employer and the man who had now taken his place.

* * *

Later that evening, when they were safely locked into their flat, bellies full and bodies washed, Rapunzel asked the question that had been weighing on her mind all afternoon.

Eugene leaned against the headboard and rubbed his forehead. He had expected something like this from this inquisitive, considerate woman, especially since he had brought up the subject at lunch, but this was not a pleasant topic to discuss at length. What he had said to McKearney was the most superficial kind of reference. Still, he never had really told Rapunzel about his family. He decided that he owed it to her to tell her. _She _didn't keep secrets from him, and besides, it was nothing to be ashamed of. It was just a source of anger and sadness.

"My father was a second son," he began. "There were only the two of them, my father and... my uncle. My grandmother died during childbirth, and I suppose my grandfather always resented my father for it. I was named for my father," he added. "His full name was Charles Eugene, but the 'Charles' was my grandfather's name, and... well, you'll see why he didn't want me to have that name too.

"My mother was an orphan, like I am—like we both are," he added meaningfully, looking at her. "She was Irish, and for a time she was employed by a family that vacationed in Southend. That's how she and my father met. Her name..." He glanced wryly at Rapunzel. _"Her_ name was Flanna Callaghan."

Rapunzel, quick and clever as she was, instantly understood. _"Oh!_ So that was another attraction of the name 'Flynn' to you. It was so similar to your mother's name."

"They're masculine and feminine forms of the same name," he said. "Yes. Anyway, she and my father soon decided to get married. She left her job and they eloped. When my father told my grandfather what he had done..." He trailed off, a flash of anger and pain passing over his face. "Rapunzel, I'm not sure how to explain this, but there are some people in the world who are just irrational, prejudiced old bigots, and my grandfather was one of them. He couldn't stand the thought of any son of his marrying an Irishwoman, and he ordered my father to divorce her. Needless to say, my father refused, and as a result, he was cut out of the wretched old man's will." He clenched his fists. "I'm glad I don't have his name. I wish I didn't have his surname. _That,_ of course, is another reason why, for so many years..." He sighed.

Rapunzel touched his arm gently. "It was also your father's surname," she said in a quiet voice. _"He _must have been a good person. You value his old spectacles... and wear his ring."

He smiled weakly. "That's true. He was a good person. They were both kind, good people..." He blinked several times and cleared his throat.

Rapunzel sensed his embarrassment. "What about your grandfather's money?" she asked. "It was all left to your uncle? Has your grandfather died? And if he has, why wouldn't your uncle—" She broke off, conscious of having perhaps inadvertently brought up yet another uncomfortable thread of discussion, but it seemed that there _were _no threads in this history that were not unpleasant.

He nodded. "He's dead. They're both dead. My uncle never had a problem with my father, and if he _were _still alive, then perhaps it would have been different, but he died a year before my parents did. There never was a lot of money in the first place, but it's long gone. My fool of an uncle drank it up within a year and a half of getting it. He'd been a drunkard even before my father left the family home, and my grandfather apparently turned a blind eye to it. And I confess there is a certain part of me that sees this work for McKearney as a form of revenge for _that _too. Making money through drink."

She gazed at him sympathetically. It still hurt him; that much was obvious, or he wouldn't see the job in such a negative way. "I think you should see it as _income,"_ she told him gently. "Income from selling something that is very nice for what it is. If you see it as revenge, that means you see it as earning money by helping to bring other people to the same kind of end as your uncle. I don't think that's a good idea. Whatever _they _do with it is not _your _fault, but if you look at it that way... basically, I think it would come to bother you. That's not what you are inside. You're a good person."

He leaned against the bed and sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he did. Finally he spoke. "I don't suppose you've _really _put your past behind you."

"No..."

"Well, neither have I. Obviously." He sounded defensive.

She scuttled up next to him. "We should, though. Both of us. Our relatives are... gone, in one way or another... and we're all each other has, in terms of family. _This _is our new family. That's what we should think about now."

He sighed, but he couldn't argue the point, nor did he want to. He managed a small smile, which she correctly interpreted as the concession that it was. She snuggled against him, threw her arms around his neck, and gave him a tender kiss, which he gladly deepened.

This part of their relationship was now easy and familiar to both of them, and their individual creativity had given them both plenty of ideas—which they rarely had any hesitation about trying. With no preconceived ideas of shame associated with intimacy—just the initial fear, which was long banished—she was able to indulge the natural curiosity that she had about everything, and he was more than happy to help. Over the course of the past month and a half, he had introduced her to some things that, initially, very much surprised her. It was a bit of a shock to be caught up by him and pushed against a wall... and he had been the one to be surprised when she pulled him down on their sofa. It _certainly _surprised her that his fingers and tongue could create the types of sensations that they did... but there it was, and she _very_ much enjoyed it the first time they tried that—and returned the favor at his rather thinly disguised request for her to do so.

Having read about the topic in medical texts, she was able to determine the days when conception was most likely, and those were the nights when he did _that._ They wanted to have children someday, but not just yet, if possible. They both thought it advisable to have some money saved up, and anyway, they liked being a couple for now.

They always enjoyed this closeness, whichever form it took, and this night was no exception. When they at last finished, they were thoroughly exhausted and ready to curl up for sleep.


	10. New Interests, Old Friends

**Author's Note**: This chapter does include the reunion with the Snuggly Duckling ruffians, as promised. However, it also contains references to "female problems." Male readers may be disturbed, I suppose... but, although I will warn for it, I'm not going to apologize. It's a part of human biology.

I've decided what to do about the question of whether it will continue being serial or will switch to my original idea of being temporally disconnected one-shots. The answer: Both. I'm borrowing an idea from comics. Most chapters – including this one and all preceding it – will be part of a "continuity thread" that is in temporal order. However, since this piece is about expanding an AU rather than writing a novel, and ideas occur to me out of sequence with what I've already written, there _may _be chapters that jump back in time compared to the continuity thread, but are still part of the AU... if that makes sense. I will say when a chapter is in the latter category.

Another thing. I really appreciate all the new adds and follows since the last chapter, but with absolutely no written feedback, I cannot tell if anyone is actually _enjoying _the piece, or if it's just being read because it's here. If you don't like something, find yourself bored with something, feel like the pace is too slow, or any other suggestion, please don't hesitate to say so. I am far too old to take offense at constructive criticism. But if the story largely _is _being enjoyed, I would like to know that too. It's discouraging to write several thousand words and not have an idea what readers really think of it.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: New Interests, Old Friends**

* * *

Maximus was getting a lot more exercise than anyone would have expected. Flynn and Rapunzel would have said that he was adapting well to city life if not for the fact that, minus the approximately two months in which he stayed at the tower, he _had _been employed in a bustling town for his entire life. Flynn had been concerned that he would dislike being cooped up and deprived of green space, but the horse was accustomed to confined city stabling.

However, if he were honest, he _still _worried about the lack of greenery and fresh air, and not just for the horse. Maximus had had access to open spaces even though he had spent most of his time in a town. The population of Corona had been confined mainly to the town, with some residents along the mainland territorial coast, and all else was natural. Rapunzel, too, had been locked in a tower for most of her life, but at least she'd had a view of the wild open countryside. He supposed that Pascal was the least affected by the change in circumstances, given that he too had lived inside that tower rather than his natural habitat. But as for himself... well, he didn't want to admit it to Rapunzel and make her feel bad about their move, but everything he disliked about his birthplace was rushing back to his mind, especially now that he had experiences running about in the countryside. The smells, the expenses, the dirt, the visual ugliness of so much of it, at least the part where they had to live... and the sheer _teeming _number of people.

_Dear Lord, there are a lot of people,_ he thought grumpily as he gazed out the window of his shop late one afternoon. Loud, hot, smelly, so often vulgar... coughing old people with only threadbare filthy handkerchiefs to hold back the infectious vapor, lewdly leering women who blatantly ignored the ring on his hand, disreputable-looking men trying to get the better of him in a transaction, grubby little children trying to pocket things from his store, unaware of how sharp-eyed he was... He smiled wryly at _that _thought. How different it looked from the perspective of the property owner. More than once he found himself thinking of some particularly sneaky varmint as a _wretched little thief,_ and when he did, the irony immediately blasted through his mind, amusing him and calming his annoyance a bit.

He didn't want to be too hard on the children, though of course he would not let them get away with stealing from him. A harsh glare and a warning that, while _he _wouldn't turn in children, they'd better not steal because _other _shop owners _might,_ and thieving led to the gallows—that usually did the trick. It also felt good. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, his scolds might save some other child from the sort of life he had led. No, though he couldn't honestly say he _liked _the sly little urchins who thought they could pilfer things from him, he didn't _dislike _children except for bullies. They were still mostly innocent, even those inclined to grab things. They just wanted to take something that they liked. The same could not be said about many adults he encountered, and even those who _were _decent people were just so _many_ in number, and in such close quarters, that he found himself pining for island solitude once again.

No, he corrected himself—_not _solitude. And it didn't have to be an island. Small though it was, he was able to find peace away from his shop in the tiny little flat that he shared with Rapunzel. As proud as he was of being successful in his line of business, he was always happy to come home, away from the bustle and noise and grime, to the place that she kept tidy, clean, and comfortable.

Quite comfortable, and not just physically so. The flat was kept full of books, as both Flynn and Rapunzel were huge readers. In addition to buying cheap used books (or keeping interesting titles sold to him by customers), they had become members of a library and found that the nominal fee was an excellent investment, for it provided plenty of fresh material to read. These books provided the sense of adventure, of different places and times, of _variety_ that they both craved as imaginative people. And before he returned home, he would go to the library to borrow some new ones.

That evening, he returned with a satchel of books. She was waiting for him at the door, and when he came in, she instantly threw her arms around him in greeting. He laughed mildly and hugged her back. _It's so nice to be loved and wanted,_ he thought, squeezing her affectionately, _and I am sure she feels the same._ He often thought about how lucky they both were. Before they met, he had no one—at least no one in continental Europe, and he had not seen his old friend George in years—who cared whether he was alive or dead (though some might have _wished _him dead), and Rapunzel had only a false mother who saw her as a tool to be used. That was all different now.

They broke apart, and before he could open it himself, Rapunzel took his satchel off his shoulder and weighed it. She broke into a grin. "You went to the library?" she asked rhetorically as she opened it.

"I thought we needed some new books to read," he said.

As they headed toward the sofa, she began taking books out: a volume of poetry, a romantic novel, and a geography book. She smiled at each of them. The books made a pile on the right side of the sofa, but there was still plenty of room for both of them to sit. He took off his boots, revealing the hosiery she had made for him and provoking a grin from her. He looked back at her with a smirk of his own and lifted her legs onto the seat, pulling her partially into his lap. She looked startled for a moment but quickly adjusted, leaning into him with a smile.

"I think we should begin reading that one"—he pointed at the book of poetry—"tonight."

"Did you pick it for a reason?" she asked, a single eyebrow raised knowingly.

He smiled back enigmatically. "Maybe."

Nights were frequently spent curled up together on the sofa, reading books together. Usually he read one thing and she read something else, and if her book was nonfiction, she would often talk about it with him and ask him questions. Sometimes, though, they read the same thing together. It could be anything. When they read Shakespeare, her favorite play turned out to be _The Tempest._ He supposed that did not surprise him too much, imagining that she could probably empathize quite well with the exiles on the island, but he found himself somewhat surprised by _his_ favorite, _Macbeth._ He guessed that it was the intrigue that appealed to him so strongly.

Reading the sonnets—reading any love poetry—was quite a different matter entirely, and many nights they were unable to finish for becoming otherwise occupied in the middle of reading. This night was no exception, with Flynn slipping a bookmark between the pages and placing the book safely on the floor before they fell into a heated embrace on the sofa.

Afterward, she picked up her discarded clothing and clutched it to her body with some embarrassment as she scuttled into the bedroom to don her nightgown. He smirked, shaking his head in amusement, as he followed her.

* * *

It was a good thing that they enjoyed themselves that night, because it was out of the question the next day—as he learned, to _his _embarrassment this time, upon returning home for lunch. Rapunzel had made him a sandwich and set it out on the table with a glass of water, but she herself was curled up on the sofa, groaning in pain, holding a stove-heated compress over her lower abdomen. Her face was twisted in discomfort, and Pascal perched on the cushion next to her head.

He stopped cold in the doorway, and a sense of dread filled his stomach. "Are you all right?" he asked uneasily.

She turned away and shook her head. "It's that time," she managed to get out.

He understood at once. "Do you want some tea?" he asked. Rapunzel had said once that tea helped with this problem.

She nodded. "Eat your lunch first, though," she said.

"I have plenty of time." He went over to the stove and began to boil water for tea.

If he were honest with himself, the whole subject made him uncomfortable, he thought as he watched the water start to bubble. It was just—awkward—to know so much about her "woman" issues. It was the kind of thing that he wished she could tell some other woman, rather than him, but she did not have a female friend. Rapunzel was learning the unfortunate lesson that, while most people were pleasant to talk to about unimportant topics, true friends were hard to find. He was still the only person to whom she was close, so he was the one who had to hear all about this sort of thing.

It was an awkward topic, but he supposed it was a good thing that they were so close that she _could _tell him about it. And he also regarded it with relief, because it meant that their attempts to avoid pregnancy had been successful for another month. It had come up three times before, twice when they were still living in the tower, and then a couple of weeks after they settled in their flat. He supposed he was getting used to it. The first time in the tower—now _that _was awkward. She had tried to hide it from him altogether, but it couldn't be done. He had guessed on his own what the problem was.

He hated that it was so unpleasant for her. She had tearfully confessed to him on that first, most embarrassing time, that it had never been that bad before. Until that time, it had been one day of light bleeding and _no _abdominal pain. The obvious conclusion to draw was that the loss of the healing magic had changed things—had made her body function more like other women's in that regard.

The water was now boiling, so he lifted the pan carefully off the hot stove and poured the water into the teapot, still musing to himself about that magic. It was a better thing to think about than the subject that had brought it to mind in the first place.

He often wondered how much of the original magic remained in them now. Its effect was certainly limited compared to what it used to be. Before, Rapunzel had never sustained long-lasting injuries. She could experience brief, temporary pain if she hurt herself, but the internal magic would heal the wound almost immediately. She also never fell ill. Now, she suffered bruises and scrapes that took time to heal just as they would on anyone else. They had not been ill, but that didn't prove anything. Rapunzel was fastidious about sanitation, and he was not prone to illness anyway.

She also didn't seem to be able to heal things with her tears, even if she sang the song first. She had tried it, just as an experiment, on a bruise that she had incurred during a misstep. (She was still a bit awkward in shoes, especially those with a heel, and preferred to go barefoot indoors.) It hadn't worked. He suggested that, perhaps, it would work in a situation where she was deeply engaged with her heart and soul, as she had been when she saved his life—but obviously, they did not want to engineer such a situation to test it.

Still, there was reason to believe that _some _aspect of the magic still existed in both of them. Although they did have to wait for bruises and cuts to heal normally, once they did heal, they _never _left scars. That was new to him. He had incurred several scars over the course of his life. They had vanished with her healing tears in the tower, and none of the scratches he had picked up since then had left new ones, including a rather jagged cut down his hand from a sharp corner on a piece of furniture in his shop—a wound that _should _have left quite a scar. It took a couple of weeks to heal, but it healed perfectly. The effects of the magic were limited, certainly—Rapunzel's present discomfort proved that—but they did still seem to be there to some small degree. He sometimes wondered just how much long-term effect the healing magic would have on both of them. Would they age gracefully, with few wrinkles, turning into silver-haired but youthful-faced versions of their younger selves? Would their lives be lengthened? Was his life now linked to hers, as Gothel's had been linked to the magic of her hair? Would he die when she did? He rather hoped so on all counts.

The tea was ready. He carried the teapot and a cup over to the sofa where she was resting. "Here you are," he said kindly, setting them down on a side table that she had painted with curlicues and floral designs.

"Thanks," she mumbled. She poured some tea into the cup. "Eat your lunch now."

He chuckled. "All right, all right." He headed over to the table and began to eat his sandwich.

* * *

That afternoon, he was going around the shop, straightening things up, when the bell behind the door tinkled and a shabbily dressed, but honest-looking older woman came in. She looked around the place before settling her gaze on him.

"Good afternoon," he said mildly. He looked her over. She didn't seem to be carrying anything in to sell. "Are you here to buy something? Feel free to search, or to ask me if it is something in particular."

The woman shook her head. "No—well, I _am; _I heard that this was a good place to get cheap candles, but I see where they are." Her gaze flitted over toward the section of the store where Rapunzel's homemade merchandise always rested.

"Yes, my wife makes them herself. But you said 'no' at first...?" he inquired.

The woman nodded. "I have a piece of furniture in the back of my cart. I couldn't get it up here and I don't know if you are even interested in such things. Do you reckon you could have a look at it?"

"What sort of furniture?" he asked, reaching into his satchel for his keys.

"A writing desk. It belonged to my father."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Flynn said immediately, assuming that the woman's father must have recently died and she was trying to get rid of an unwanted item.

She shook her head again as they walked out of the store and he locked it. "He's been dead many years, but that thing has just been taking up space in the house. I finally decided to try to get rid of it."

They walked downstairs and went outside, where a cart drawn by a mule stood just off the street. A younger man, presumably the woman's son, was standing guard by the cart. And sure enough, in the back of it sat a chestnut-stained desk with a slanting drop cover and drawers underneath. The seat was attached to it; it was all in one piece. The desk had been somewhat abused—the knobs on the drawers were tarnished and loose, and the wood finish was scratched in many places—but he knew at once that he wanted this desk, and _not _to resell.

He also knew that it would not do for this woman or her son to see _how much_ he wanted the desk. Better to look unimpressed but willing to take it off their hands. That way they would be happy to be paid almost anything. They didn't seem to need the money desperately; they weren't trying to sell off a recently deceased person's belongings to pay off debts that had come to light upon his death. From the sounds of it, they were just trying to dispose of something that they did not use. _I can use it,_ he thought with a scoff.

Quickly the sale was completed. The desk was unloaded from the cart and brought inside, though not all the way up to the second-floor shop. It was left on the lower level, tucked under the stair closet next to the tailor shop. Flynn told them smoothly that he would arrange for it to be brought upstairs. In truth, of course, he was only trying to prevent unnecessary work in carrying the desk upstairs and then back down again to take it home.

The woman purchased several candles and left. After he closed up the shop that afternoon, he lifted the writing desk into the back of his own cart, hitched it up to Maximus, and drove it home.

Rapunzel was surprised when, that evening, the door to their flat opened to reveal Flynn _and _the boardinghouse's caretaker hauling in the heavy desk.

"Let's put it in the corner," he told the caretaker. "Evening, Rapunzel," he added with a grin as they lifted the desk across the room to the corner where their bookcase stood.

She stared at them wordlessly as they set the desk down. The caretaker tipped his hat to her and left, and then she turned to Flynn with a raised eyebrow.

"What did you want that for?" she questioned.

He collapsed on the sofa and threw an arm around her. "I thought we could both use it. It would be a good place to paint and draw—much better than the table—and besides, I thought I ought to write again."

"_Again?"_

He smirked. "It was another thing I did as a boy. I liked to read to the other children from printed books, of course, but I also liked to make up stories of my own."

"I did not know that," she said, her tone half-scolding for a moment. Then it changed, and a smile formed on her face. "You're very creative. I'm glad you got this desk. It looks like it fits next to the books."

"Of course. Writing is a learned thing to do," he said cockily. "We may not have much money, but that's no reason to live like ignorant, illiterate people. We _aren't."_

* * *

Reading love poems together was not a possibility that night, due to what usually happened when they did and the problematic matter of Rapunzel's current "condition," so he sat at the desk with some paper in front of him and started writing down his thoughts. Meanwhile, she sat on the sofa with the geography book he had brought the day before. At one point, she got up from the sofa to take their atlas off the bookshelves—the atlas that had come from the bookstore back in Corona village. She wanted a reference for the places that she was reading about.

He continued writing until the silence was broken by a regretful sigh. He snapped his head up and glanced over at her. She was gazing at a map of Italy longingly. He understood at once.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I wish we had enough money to go anywhere you wanted to go... to see everything you'd like to see."

She closed the books. "When I lived with _her _in the tower, I used to dream about seeing the whole world. I had no idea how much there _was _in the world, though—how big it really is—and I definitely didn't know about expenses. It would be _so _costly." She sighed. "I cannot imagine that many people would be able to do such a thing."

He shook his head. "World travel is something for the very rich, certainly. Or sailors, I suppose."

"So it isn't your fault at all. Don't blame yourself," she said. "At least we _do _have books where we can read about these places. I read in a history book that a few centuries ago, hardly anyone even had _books,_ and that the printing press helped spread knowledge like nothing else. We have books, and we both know how to read."

He smiled weakly at her before returning to his writing. It was hard going. He was not even trying to imagine any new ideas, but to write down the ones he remembered from his boyhood. But details kept occurring to him out of order. Finally he set down his quill and glanced over at the sofa. She had not opened the geography book or the atlas again. From the looks of it, she had spent the past several minutes staring idly into space.

A thought occurred to him. "Hey," he said, "would you like to go out to the pub tonight? It might be fun." _And if neither of us really wants to stay in and do quiet things, that might be just the ticket._

She thought for a moment before answering. "Sure," she said.

They tidied themselves up a bit before heading out, arm in arm, and climbing on Maximus's back. The horse took off at a leisurely clip, but the pub was reasonably close by, so they arrived quickly.

They could tell it was a raucous night at the Third Sheet before they even brought the horse to a halt. The sound of a bar song could be heard outside the place, even muffled as it was by the walls. Something about the voices sounded vaguely familiar to Flynn... but no, it _couldn't_ be...

They entered the pub, and the volume of noise increased markedly. Their gaze traveled across the room, taking in the scene, and almost simultaneously, Flynn and Rapunzel's jaws both dropped open.

The ruffians from the Snuggly Duckling in Corona filled every corner of the place. No other customers appeared to be there—not that _that _was surprising, considering. Hookhand had staked out a spot on the battered old harpsichord shoved into a corner, an instrument that Flynn and Rapunzel had never seen anyone playing, and he was banging away on it, leading the entire gang in a performance of "I've Got a Dream." The ruffians were banging their fists in tune on the tables, singing aloud, sloshing their beer all over themselves. Shorty, the half-demented old man in Cupid wings, was seated at the bar, making gap-toothed grins at the serving staff. George Vale regarded the proceedings with a wary eye, looking none too pleased about having his pub taken over completely by a gang of oversized, poorly dressed, heavily armed thugs.

Suddenly Hookhand stopped playing. The song died away and the rest of the group followed his gaze to the doorway.

"Rider!" the hook-handed man roared, standing up. "What are you doing here? And who is that with you?"

"Yeah, where's the blonde lady?" Big Nose called out, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

"'_Rider'?"_ George Vale muttered in a low voice that nonetheless carried across the room in the silence.

He winced inwardly. His friend had never found out the name by which he had presented himself during his time on the Continent, and this was not the sort of setting in which he wanted to make the explanation. He addressed himself to Hookhand instead.

"I live here," he said. "I was born in this city, and I've come back. With her." He glared at the ruffian. "This _is _'the blonde lady.' Her hair is its natural color now. The blonde color, and the length, were... _not _natural."

The thugs muttered amongst themselves, apparently deciding whether or not to believe him. Several of them squinted at Rapunzel, studying her face.

"It's true," Rapunzel said, seeing where this could potentially go and wanting to stop it before it did. A couple of the ruffians relaxed their faces, evidently recognizing the sound of her voice. "My dream was to 'see the floating lanterns,' remember?"

This bit of information convinced the rest of them of her identity. The tension in the room instantly evaporated, and the ruffians parted as the couple made their way to the bar.

"I see rings!" Big Nose called out triumphantly. "They've got 'em on their fingers! Well done!" At this announcement, most of the gang rushed up and began to slap Flynn on the back good-naturedly.

Vale served them their mugs of ale and raised an eyebrow at Flynn. "I suppose you _know _these people?" he said.

Flynn nodded. "I met them shortly after I met her." He did not want to explain _how _he had met them or _why _he had brought her to the Snuggly Duckling, because he was sure that his friend would not approve of it. Even now, after she had made friends with the ruffians and they had saved his life, he was ashamed of deliberately bringing her there to scare her. "I'm surprised to see any of them here," he added, glancing around as he spoke and looking the nearest ruffian—Big Nose—right in the eye. "They left in a ship some time before we did."

"Yeah, we still have it," Vladamir put in. "How do you think we ended up _here?_ We're proper tradesmen now."

_Somehow I doubt that,_ Flynn thought to himself, but he elected not to say it. Instead he asked them: "So what sort of trade are you in?" _Probably piracy,_ he thought wryly.

Vladamir scowled, evidently aware of the general turn of Flynn's thoughts. "We are involved in transporting goods of a—a _special_ nature. To _special _recipients."

"You mean smuggling?" Flynn said knowingly. _Of course,_ he thought. It made sense. If ever there was a ship that a merchant—"legitimate" or otherwise—could trust would _never _be boarded by pirates, it was one manned by _this _crew.

The ruffian scowled deeper. "I suppose you could call it that."

Flynn grinned. "No, I understand, and I don't judge." It was true, given that he was involved in a bit of smuggling himself for part of his income. McKearney didn't ship his bottles directly to London, but rather, to some character who unloaded them in Bristol and sent them across the countryside disguised among other goods. Flynn only dealt with the person who delivered them to London, but it was still smuggling. George Vale, who was listening in, smirked at this remark.

"So what are _you _doing, then?" the ruffian replied. "How are you supporting her?"

"I have a shop. General used goods—pawn—old furniture—oh, and Rapunzel makes plenty of candles and pottery and drawings to sell. It generates a steady income," he added proudly, wrapping his free arm around Rapunzel's waist.

The ruffians nodded and mumbled to themselves approvingly. Hookhand spoke up. "We're in town for a couple of weeks before we have to go to Copenhagen. I 'spect we'll spend a lot of time here, since you come here too."

"Have you seen any other places?" Rapunzel burst out eagerly. "Like Japan, or India, or the Americas, or—" She broke off, reddening at her own eagerness.

Flynn felt embarrassed for her too. She must not have any idea how long it would take to make any of those journeys. He recalled the discussion about the atlas and geography book from earlier in the evening. _Poor Rapunzel,_ he thought. She really wanted to see other places. He could empathize. He had wanted to escape this city for so long himself, and she had been stuck in a single _building _for almost her entire life.

The ruffian, however, didn't laugh at her for her question. He just shook his head. "We've stuck to sea ports along the Continent so far. This is the first time we've been to the British Isles."

"We might come back more often, though," Big Nose piped up, "since you lot are here." The rest of the gang muttered in general agreement. A couple of them raised their steins as if making a toast to Rapunzel and Flynn.

They spent the rest of the evening catching up. The trip to the pub _had _been a good idea, Flynn thought smugly. Rapunzel was able to truly enjoy herself, talking with the gang. At one point they started a chorus of her song again, much to George Vale's horror—given how much beer they spilled on his floor the first time—but the innkeeper seemed to understand that things like this were just part of having this type of business at a harborside location. After the song was over, a couple of the ruffians seemed to recognize the reason for his alarm, and the entire crowd soon mobbed the cleaning closet—Vale's staff scampered out of the way quickly—and started to mop up much of their mess.

After the crowd finally dispersed, the only people left in the pub were Flynn, Rapunzel, and the staff. Grateful for the silence, Vale turned to his old friend with a grin on his face.

Flynn felt a drop in his stomach at that look. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. The ruffians had continued to call him by _that name_ all evening long, and sure enough...

"So," Vale said with a tone that indicated he had already figured out the answer, "why were all those ruffians calling you 'Rider'?"

He glared back. "I think you must have guessed already."

Vale laughed. "I'd nearly forgot about that book. I suppose you've found a copy of it again."

He shook his head. "Actually, no—but I haven't really been _looking._ We _do_ have a lot of books, but not that one."

"_Yet,"_ Vale emphasized.

"Yet," Flynn admitted in agreement. He _would _like to have a copy of the book again, not only for nostalgia, but because he thought that reading the old stories might trigger the memories of _his _original stories that he was now trying to recover—or again inspire the part of his imagination that had produced them.

* * *

**End Note:** _"Would they age gracefully, with few wrinkles, turning into silver-haired but youthful-faced versions of their younger selves? Would their lives be lengthened? Was his life now linked to hers, as Gothel's had been linked to the magic of her hair? Would he die when she did?"_ In my headcanon, the answers are yes, yes, yes, and yes (at least unless he suffered a catastrophic injury first). I also think she probably could heal him again if it were his life that was at stake. The idea of the tear magic being linked to her "heart," being usable only in desperate need, is not my idea, but I support that reading.


End file.
